Beyond the Darkness II: The Philosopher's Stone
by Orion Scorpio
Summary: AU & sequel to 'Beyond the Darkness: The Early Years'. After growing up in hiding with supposed Death Eater and massmurderer Sirius Black, Harry is now eleven and ready to start his first year at Hogwarts... and heaven help that school.
1. End of an Era

**Beyond the Darkness II: The Philosopher's Stone**

**Author Name:** Orion Scorpio

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** AU & sequel to 'Beyond the Darkness: The Early Years'. After growing up in hiding with supposed Death Eater and mass-murderer Sirius Black, Harry is now eleven and ready to start his first year at Hogwarts... and heaven help that school.

**Author's Note:** This story was originally inspired by the thought of a lot more cheerful and mischievous Harry going to Hogwarts.

IIII

**Chapter 1: End of an Era**

**11th August 1991**

Harry regarded his opponent with cat-like concentration, he feet shoulder-width apart and one foot in front of the other, knees slightly bent, left arm down in low blocking position, right arm up loosely to the side of his face. To an outsider, the Auror-created martial art known as 'Twister' were an odd mixture of cool self-control and abrupt ferocity. It didn't concentrate much on a particular form or style, but rather dictated speed and concentrated violence at decisive moments. The first blow that got through an opponent's defence unblocked was usually fatal. In other words, not something most parents would like their children to learn.

Lucky thing Sirius Black was not your average parent.

The golem - a featureless clayman about Harry's size, temporarily given life by magic - was standing before him, mirroring his actions. Harry tried to empty his mind all thoughts. In a real fight you didn't have _time_ to think. You simply _did_ it; reacting according to instincts so deeply drilled into you, that you weren't consciously aware of what you were doing until it was over.

At least, that's what Sirius said.

The trick was to clear your mind of all thought and emotion and let yourself simply _react_. So he ignored the cool wind he felt on his face, ignored the occasional drop of rain that fell from a grey sky. He just stood there, mind blank and calmly waiting.

The golem suddenly moved, feinting to the right. Harry's left hand slapped aside the golem's ankle, blocking the side-kick while his right intercepted the elbow strike follow-up. Unfazed, the golem exploited the momentum of Harry's block to whirl around in a blur. Its right foot came up in a flashing back-kick – and hit nothing but air.

Harry twisted and slipped past the striking foot, and a rock-hard fist sent the golem reeling back a step. The boy's other hand struck out like a viper, got a hold, and suddenly the grey clay-man went flying through the air. Quickly, he darted after it to finish the fight.

However, the thing hit the ground rolling and got back on its feet before Harry could reach it. The protective padding he wore absorbed most of the blow, yet he grunted when a fist rammed into his midriff. Instincts allowed him to automatically block the elbow heading for his face, but he couldn't recover his stance in time and suddenly he found himself airborne.

He landed with far less grace than the golem had, skidding a few feet before coming to a stop. Harry pulled himself up to a sitting position and glared death at the golem, which had returned to guard-position. It didn't seem the least disturbed by Harry's gaze.

"Stand down," Harry snapped.

The golem twitched once, and then slowly began to dissolve into the puddle of clay from whence it had come.

"Cursed thing," Harry muttered under his breath, as he got up and took off his helmet. "I swear I'll reduce it into dust one of these days."

He tucked the helmet under his arm and brushed sweaty bangs away from his forehead, revealing the lightning-bolt scar that marked him as history's sole survivor of the Killing Curse.

A series of dull thuds drew his attention to the right, where Sirius were still sparring with his own golem – just in time to see the animated clay-man twisting Sirius' arm, throwing its hips and shoulders into his torso, and sending him flying to land on the damp grass with a solid _thump._

The golem charged after him, but Sirius hit the ground rolling and came back up on his feet in a single, fluid motion. He grabbed the golem by the shoulders and rolled backwards, as if to pull it down on top of him. But as his shoulders touched the ground, his legs came up with explosive force, and this time it was the golem that went flying.

It landed in the grass and started to get up without missing a beat, but Sirius had used his own momentum to go into a backwards somersault. Before the golem could get back on its feet, Sirius was on it from behind. His right arm snaked around its neck, squeezing it in the crook of his arm, and the heel of his left hand slammed into the back of the golem's head like a sledgehammer. Its head seemed to explode in a cloud of dust and tiny pieces of clay.

Officially 'dead', the golem went limp as it had been charmed to do.

Harry heaved a resigned sigh. It would take years of dedicated effort before he reached Sirius' level of proficiency – if it ever happened at all.

Panting, Sirius rose to his feet. "Hah! Padfoot – one, Snivellus – zero!"

"Why do you insist on calling that thing Snivellus?" Harry asked in amusement. He had never felt any urge to name his own golem.

"It's a long story," Sirius said as he removed his helmet and ruffled his hair. "If you're a good boy, I might tell you it someday."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ready for some wand-work? Or is that worn-out wreak you call body not up to the task?"

Sirius gave him an incredulous look. "'Worn-out wreck?'" he repeated, feigning hurt. "Oh, my. I see your golem didn't give you nearly enough bruises."

Grinning, Harry tossed his helmet to the ground and drew his wand with a flourish. "Well?"

"I suppose I have to hex you, then," Sirius said, shaking his head in mock-sadness. "With the greatest regret, of course."

Wands out, they began to circle each other. There was no bowing or anything else of what Sirius called 'formal nonsense'. A Death Eater wasn't likely to first bow and then allow them to take up duelling stances before attacking; hence they never bothered with it.

As before, Harry emptied his mind and let his instincts take over. During the literally hundreds of mock-duels they had fought over the years, both had learned the subtle signs in each other that warned of an imminent attack. The twitch of an eye in Sirius' case, or the setting of his jaw in Harry's.

Very few observers would have been able to tell who moved first. To most it would have seemed as if they moved simultaneously; a blasting curse and a stunner erupted out of Sirius' and Harry's wands, respectively. The two spells collided in mid-air, exploding in a flash of magical energy.

Harry quickly dodged a Full Body Bind followed by a Disarming Spell, and returned fire with an Impediment Jinx. Sirius avoided it by doing a sort of cartwheel without planting his hands in the ground.

_Show-off,_ Harry thought. "Incarcerous!"

Sirius slapped the hex aside like an annoying fly. "Tarantallegra."

Harry dodged right and opened his mouth to deliver a stunner, when something suddenly yanked powerfully on his feet. Rather than being surprised by the non-verbal Trip Jinx, he exploited his forward momentum to tuck, roll and come back up on his feet, just in time to conjure up a shield to protect himself from a Confunding Hex.

"Impellus!" Harry snapped in retaliation.

The Blasting Curse ricocheted off Sirius' shield and instead tore up a poor, innocent bush with its roots. Harry tried to press his attack but was forced to go on the defensive by multiple Conjunctivitis Curses. Sirius charged forth in an effort to close the distance between them, launching hexes as he went. It was a risky tactic; less distance meant that both opponents had less time to react, which usually was to Harry's advantage with his quicker reflexes. However, Sirius was apparently of the opinion that his greater experience and knowledge would offset any advantage Harry might have.

Harry saw his godfather coming, rolled his torso to avoid an Impediment Jinx, and whispered an incantation.

"Wha-!"

Sirius lost his footing as the ground he ran on abruptly turned as slippery as wet ice, landed on his face and skidded several feet. Harry reacted in mid-exclamation with a Disarming Charm, and watched with glee as his godfather's wand went flying.

"YES! I won! I won!" Harry exclaimed, and promptly broke out into laughter when he saw Sirius sitting on his backside with an utterly gobsmacked expression.

Sirius shook his head to clear it. "He's never going to let me forget this," he muttered in resignation.

III

After a refreshing shower, Sirius came trotting down the stairs carrying his old school-trunk. He was still kicking himself for loosing duel. One of his weaknesses, which his instructors at the Auror Academy had pointed out repeatedly, was underestimating his opponents. It was a weakness he could do without, and fully intended to rid himself off.

Losing to a eleven year-old should provide ample inspiration, he thought ruefully.

"Harry, take a look at this," Sirius said, putting the trunk down on the coffee table.

Harry looked up from where he had been polishing his Cleansweep Seven. "An old trunk?"

"_My_ old trunk, to be precise. Since it has a few special features I thought maybe you'd want to use it, when you go to Hogwarts in three weeks time."

"So what's so special?" Harry asked, putting away the broom.

"This." Sirius unlocked it with a small, golden key and opened the lid. All it contained was an old and worn Transfiguration-textbook.

"_The Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ is special?" Harry asked sceptically.

"No, you twit; I'm not done yet." Sirius closed the lid and turned the key first one quarter to the left, then one quarter to the right and opened again. The textbook was gone, replaced with an old parchment.

"A secret compartment!" Sirius declared with a flourish of his hand. "Very useful for storing… stuff you don't want anyone to know about. Not that I – as a responsible godfather – would encourage you to break any rules, of course."

Harry had broken into a rather evil grin, so Sirius coughed and moved quickly on. "Anyway, it also has a built-in Featherlight Charm and several anti-theft jinxes. Try to open it without the key and you'll end up with tentacles instead of arms."

Sirius glanced at his watch and changed the subject: "Speaking of Hogwarts, you'd better get ready for the meeting with Dumbledore. He should be getting the letter about now."

Harry nodded and needlessly adjusted his rectangular spectacles, which Sirius recognized as his tell-tale sign of nervousness. After all, he had spent three days unconscious after his last meeting with Hogwarts' Headmaster.

"Relax," Sirius said soothingly, giving Harry a slap on the shoulder. "It'll be fine. Old Dumbledore has always been wiser than most."

III

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Order of Merlin (First Class), Grand Sorcerer, Leader of the Order of the Phoenix, Bane of Grindelwald, Greatest Wizard of the Age and the One Wizard Whom Voldemort Fears, were right then doing one of those things that gave him a reputation for being a bit of an eccentric.

He was knitting a pair of electric blue socks.

Although most would shake their heads in amusement, Albus firmly believed that everyone was entitled to a few eccentric hobbies. His own hobbies happened to be chamber music, tenpin bowling, sweets and socks. Not in that particular order, mind.

To tell the truth, however; much of his eccentric behaviour was intentional. It made people loosen up around the great Albus Dumbledore, and often made his enemies underestimate him, too. Very useful in certain situations.

He had spent the last hour staring out of the window of his office with a vacant expression, humming a Muggle tune he'd recently taken a liking to, while his hands were automatically working on his latest creation. This was why he saw the owl before it reached the window.

Albus paused in his knitting long enough to make a gesture with one hand, causing the window to open magically. The brown barn-owl flew in and landed on his desk. It humped over to Albus and held out the leg with the parchment attached to it.

"Well hello, dear," Albus greeted and put down his knitting needles. "What news do you bring me?"

He opened the letter and grinned in delight when he saw the untrained handwriting of someone very young. Albus loved children, but he unfortunately only received letters from one very rarely. Usually it was because they didn't think 'the greatest wizard of the age' would be interested in anything they had to say. Utterly wrong, of course, but there it was.

Albus read the first paragraph and blinked in surprise. His eyes darted down to the signature at the bottom.

"Oh, my!"

III

A few minutes later, Albus stepped out of the fireplace and into the Leaky Cauldron.

"Albus Dumbledore!" the bald innkeeper exclaimed, and came half-running across the room to shake Albus' hand. "What an unexpected honour! Can I get you anything? Some oak-matured mead, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, Tom," Albus declined. "I'm here to meet with someone in room nine."

"Ah, with young Mr Evans? Then I shall make sure that you are not disturbed."

Albus managed to keep from chuckling as he walked up the stairs. _Mr Evans? Using his mother's maiden name was probably Sirius' idea._

He paused at the door to room nine for a moment. There had been two reasons for sending Harry to live with the Dursleys; the first was of course protection. Not even Voldemort himself would be able to break through the blood-wards. The second and equally important reason was for Harry's own good; by growing up among Muggles he would be protected by the attention his fame would generate.

Having no idea how Sirius had raised Harry, he was a little afraid of what he'd find on the other side of the door; a normal child or a spoiled little prince? True, his letter had been perfectly polite, but-

Shaking aside the thought he raised his hand and knocked three times.

"Come in," a young voice called.

Albus opened the door and found himself stopping in the doorway. At first glance, Harry seemed to be the mirror image of his father, and for a moment it was as if Albus had been transported thirty years back in time. The mental image of a young James Potter, standing in the Great Hall and waiting to be sorted, was so vivid that he had to blink several times to clear his mind.

A second glance, however, revealed the subtle and not-so-subtle differences. His features were somehow softer, for one thing. The pair of sparkling green eyes he had clearly inherited from his mother, and although his hair was just as black and unruly as his father's, James had never let it grow down to his shoulders. Then of course there was the lightning-bolt scar, just barely visible behind a bang of hair.

"Pleased to meet you, Professor," the boy said, perhaps a trifle nervously. "Please, sit down. Tea?"

"Why, thank you, Mr Potter," Albus smiled and sat down at the coffee table.

"Um, how do you-?"

"Two sugars, please."

The boy handed Albus his cup and sat down in the chair opposite him, moving with a cat-like grace that made the ancient wizard blink. He had seen that before somewhere… His photographic memory clicked and whirled as it rewound to forty-eight years earlier, when he had seen a Muggle martial artist move with the same feline grace.

_Oh, my. What on Earth have you been teaching the boy, Sirius?_

"I obviously got your letter, Mr Potter," Albus began. "And I have of course no objection at all to you attending Hogwarts. You have, after all, been registered at Hogwarts ever since your birth."

"Won't there be any problems with the Ministry?" Harry asked, anxiously. "Considering who my godfather is, I mean."

"Leave any problems that may arise to me," Albus said, dismissively. "Now, doubtless I have a few more fears to soothe, but first I must ask you a question that have weighed rather heavily upon me in recent years. I assume you remember us meeting outside Gringotts, and the unfortunate consequences that followed?" Albus had never come closer to a heart attack than he did that day. In an effort to stun Sirius Black, whom he at the time thought was a Death Eater, he had instead hit four-year old Harry. While harmless to an adult, the powerful stunner could very well have turned the young wizard into a squib.

Harry tensed briefly, before relaxing. "Yeah, I do."

"Were you injured?"

"Not- not really."

Albus peered at him over his half-moon spectacles. It was something he had learned caused a surprising number of people to tell the truth or blurt out information they'd rather not divulge.

Sure enough, the boy shifted under his stare. "Broke a rib," Harry admitted. "And I was out for three days."

Albus winced internally. "But nothing permanent, I hope?"

"No, nothing. I was perfectly fine again after a week."

Albus allowed himself to let out a sigh. "That pleases me to hear more than you know. What pleases me even more is that you are obviously healthy and well cared for, which puts to rest the accusations levelled against your godfather."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Albus got there first. "While I'm ashamed to admit that I thought Sirius guilty of several terrible crimes during the Gringotts-incident, rest assured that I no longer do."

He smiled and sipped his tea, as Harry relaxed and leaned back in his chair. The boy's first and primary concern seemed to be his godfather's well-being, which at such young age spoke volumes about his character. What little there was left of Albus' initial fears, vanished.

"Now that's out of the way, I have something here that is yours," Albus continued and handed Harry a key. "This is the key to your vault at Gringotts. Your parents left it in my care shortly before they went into hiding."

Harry took the key and put it in a pocket after a brief examination.

Next, Albus gave him an envelope. "This contains a list of books and other school supplies you'll need, as well as a ticket for the Hogwarts Express. Don't bother with the part where it says to send us an owl; I'll take care of it."

He grinned when he saw Harry take the envelope with wide-eyed reverence. The look of open delight in the boy's eyes made him chuckle.

Harry smiled back. "Thank you, sir."

"No thanks are necessary," Albus waved it away. He paused. "After the school-year is over... I presume you'll be returning to wherever you and Sirius live?"

Harry immediately tensed up again. "Yes," he said, almost defiantly.

"I very much doubt that the Ministry is going to like that idea, so when you leave you'll most probably receive some unwanted attention," Albus pointed out calmly.

"Sirius and I have taken steps to ensure that I won't be followed," Harry said.

"Good, good. Always been a smart man, Sirius," Albus murmured and sipped his tea again. Harry, however, seemed to be waiting for something. Albus eyed him curiously. What could-

_Oh, right. Silly me._

"I had arranged for ample protection for you at your Muggle relatives' house, but considering how completely you and Sirius disappeared, it does seem rather idiotic to force you to go back to them, does it not?"

"Yeah, it does," Harry said, letting out a breath he had been holding.

"That's what I thought, too," Albus said seriously. Besides, he doubted he had the heart to separate the two. "Just remember that the Ministry won't see it that way."

Green eyes met blue. "We'll be careful."

III

When he stepped out of the fireplace in his office half an hour later, Albus found Minerva and Severus waiting for him.

"Where have you been, Albus?" Severus began. "Did Minister Fudge-"

In three huge strides, Albus was beside him. Severus instinctively started to take a step back, but Albus grabbed his head with both hands and planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek. Chuckling and crackling like a madman, he turned his back on a slack-jawed Minerva and a Potions Master in the process of having a severe heart attack, and climbed on top of his desk. Facing them, he began singing a crazy little ditty he apparently made up on the spot, while waving his fingers in time with the rhythm.

_Oh, no! Oh, no! The wizard is back!_

_The wizard is ba-a-ack! The wizard is ba-a-ack!_

_Oh, woe! The wizard is back!_

_The most famous wizard_

_In the wo-o-orld!_

Albus finished by laughing merrily at the dumbfounded look the two teachers gave each other; doubtless they now thought him even more of a loon than he was.

Very slowly and carefully, as if speaking to someone who was a danger to himself, Minerva said: "Perhaps you should get down from there, and explain what wizard you are talking about, Albus."

Severus said nothing, touching a hand to the cheek were Albus had just kissed him, still with the same pop-eyed expression.

"Certainly, Minerva, certainly," Albus grinned, and jumped down from the desk with an ease that might have been normal in a man one fifth his age. "I am - quite obviously - referring to Harry Potter, whom I just met at the Leaky Cauldron."

"_What?_" For once, the mask Severus always kept into place seemed to slip. "Then where is he? Did you take him to the Ministry?"

"Of course not," Albus said in mild surprise. "Whatever for?"

"'Whatever for?'" Minerva repeated in mingled shock and exasperation. "Albus, we've been searching for the boy for _ages_, and you just left him there?"

"I'm going to the Leaky Cauldron!" Severus declared. He hurried over to the fireplace and snatched some Floo Powder from the jar at the mantelpiece.

"Please, Severus; there's no need to rush," Albus said soothingly. "After all, you will see him at the Sorting Feast in only three short weeks from now."

The Potions Master whirled around to stare at him with an expression of utter incredulity. Somehow managing to keep from laughing, Albus took a parchment lying on his desk and waved it in the air. "Harry just wrote a letter to me, explaining that he wished to attend Hogwarts. Naturally, I agreed."

"'Naturally!'" Severus blurted out in disbelief, still standing beside the fireplace with a handful of Floo Powder. Poor Minerva sank slowly down into the nearest armchair, one hand pressed against her heart.

_I'm really enjoying this too much,_ Albus thought ruefully.

"But what about Sirius Black?" Minerva asked faintly.

Albus made a show of looking confused. "What about him?"

"Damn it, Albus! Quit playing games!" Severus snapped, waving his arms about in agitation and sending up a cloud of Floo Powder. "The man is a dangerous criminal!"

Albus waved away the exclamation, effortlessly going from senile old loon to powerful wizard in a second. "We've been through this, Severus. I've harboured doubts of Sirius' guilt for many years now, and my conversation with young Harry left me convinced of his godfather's innocence." He paused to sit himself down behind his desk. "Despite Lucius Malfoy's claim that Sirius has been abusing the boy, Harry looked quite healthy and well-cared for. That alone should tell you something, not to mention the fact that he's sending Harry to attend Hogwarts!"

"But… aren't you going to _do_ anything?" Minerva asked.

"Whatever would you have me do?"

"I don't know!" she snapped in frustration. "Bring him to Hogwarts, or- or _something!_"

Severus brightened. "That was a good idea! Take the brat to Hogwarts where we can keep an eye on him, and make sure he doesn't leave to Merlin-knows-where once the school-year is over."

He was about to toss the Floo Powder into the fireplace, when Albus quietly spoke.

"Terrible idea."

Severus blinked in surprise and half turned back toward them. "Oh?"

Albus peered at him over his spectacles. "Aside from the almost certain possibility that Harry has already left the Leaky Cauldron, yes."

The Potions Master stood hesitating for a moment, before reluctantly dropping the Floo Powder back in the jar with a disgruntled sigh. "Very well then, Albus. Why is it such a terrible idea?"

"Simple; keeping him under close observation here at the castle, never letting him do anything potentially dangerous, and preferably locking him inside a paddled cell will certainly keep him alive, but… it will also leave him woefully unprepared once he have to confront Voldemort."

Minerva shuddered and glanced at Severus, who scowled darker than usual. Voldemort and the prophecy were seldom mentioned.

Albus leaned back in his comfortable armchair. "I admit that my first thought was to protect him in every possible way, once we found him. Sirius doesn't think that way. He would accept that Harry would end up in dangerous situations from time to time, and instead teach the boy how to deal with them. A better way I think."

"So you're just going to let him return to a man who proved he was capable of committing murder at age sixteen?" Severus demanded in exasperation.

"Of course," Albus said, ignoring the slight toward Sirius. "I wouldn't dream of illegally imprisoning him."

Severus' expression was a mixture of bitterness and dark pessimism, while Minerva simply looked undecided. Albus' earlier display of craziness probably hadn't helped his case.

"Well cheer up, then!" Albus suddenly exclaimed. "After all, we have seven exceptionally interesting years ahead of us!"

"That's what worries me," Minerva muttered.

III

_A big thanks to my beta-reader, the Phoenix King._


	2. The Hogwarts Express

**Chapter 2: The Hogwarts Express**

One of the things Harry had learned early in life was that Padfoot and kitchens didn't mix early in the morning. In fact, the last time his godfather had attempted to make breakfast, it had taken them a week to remove the grey-green, snot-like goo that had covered every possible surface. This was why it was Harry who usually prepared breakfast, while Sirius tried to wake up with a hot shower.

Harry yawned as he tended the bacon. Today was a big day; today he and Sirius go to Diagon Alley – properly disguised, of course – and buy the necessary school-equipment. Most wouldn't consider a simple trip to Diagon Alley something out of the ordinary, but considering their rather unique situation it was obvious they rarely ventured far from Padfoot's Den. Of course, Harry thought with a slight smile, today was nothing compared to tomorrow.

Tomorrow he would go to Hogwarts.

He had grown up listening to Sirius telling stories of the pranks he and the other Marauders had pulled, of the secret passageways, of the ghosts and talking portraits. The prospect of being able to learn as much magic as he wanted made his stomach flutter. However, what made him most eager to go was a little promise he had made himself… that even if he never achieved anything else while at Hogwarts, he would prove Sirius' innocence before he graduated.

And speaking of that flea-infested furball…

Harry listened closely for a moment. Yes, Sirius had begun singing in the shower, although in Harry's humble opinion it rather sounded as if he was shouting something in an obscure dialect of a language distantly related to Russian. In any case, the 'singing' meant that his godfather was more or less awake. However, just to be _certain…_

He quickly walked into the sitting room and opened the cupboard under the stairs. There, in a corner squeezed between a bucket and a bottle of Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover, was the pipe that feed hot water to the shower on the second floor.

Grinning evilly, he drew his wand and put a Freezing Charm on the pipe, instantly covering the metal in frost. A few moments later, Sirius' so-called singing abruptly turned into a howl.

The door to the bathroom banged open, "HARRY! TURN THE BLOODY WARM WATER BACK ON! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?"

"Breakfast is ready, Padfoot," Harry said sweetly, while removing the charm. Chuckling, he walked back into the kitchen.

Sirius came throttling down the stairs a few minutes later, and Harry was proud to see that he was very much awake.

"That was totally uncalled for," Sirius grumbled as he sat down at the table.

Harry swallowed a mouthful of eggs and cocked a brow. "Did you, or did you not charm my pillow to kiss me yesterday?"

Sirius paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "Oh. Oops."

"Yeah. Oops."

"I suppose pink hair isn't warranted, then," Sirius sighed regretfully.

"Too right, it isn't," Harry muttered.

They ate in silence for a while, before Sirius spoke up again. "Harry, remember I told you about that boy James and I used to prank?"

Harry looked up. "Severus Snape?"

"That's the one. He's currently teaching Potions at Hogwarts, and I want you to stay away from him as much as possible," Sirius said, gesturing with his fork. "Keep your head down in his classes, don't attract his attention."

"But why?" Harry asked in confusion.

Sirius hesitated. "Snape is... not a good man to cross."

"What, is he dangerous?" Harry demanded.

"No, no. Of course not," Sirius said and chuckled. "He'll behave himself as long as Dumbledore is Headmaster."

Harry didn't ask again, but noted how Sirius wouldn't look him in the eyes when he said that... not to mention the insinuation that Snape _wouldn't_ behave himself if Dumbledore _weren't_ Headmaster.

III

Diagon Alley was just as crowded and busy as Harry remembered it. The noise and chaos had him half-dizzy within minutes. Making sure to keep close to Sirius, he cast a longing look at Quality Quidditch Supplies as they dodged around a large family of redheads.

"…can't believe we delayed this until now," a short, plump woman who was obviously the mother said to herself. "Right, next on the list is new robes for Percy."

Harry ignored them and throttled to keep up with Sirius. "Where to first?" he called over the noise of a thousand conversations.

"Gringotts," Sirius replied. "Need to exchange pounds for Galleons."

"Can I see my vault while we're there? Dumbledore gave me the key."

"Oh, but that won't be necessary," Sirius said, brushing the notion aside. "I'll pay for everything."

"But can't I at least just see?" Harry begged. "Maybe they left me something else than just money. Maybe a letter or pictures or something."

"Well, I suppose it can't hurt."

With the crowd outside, it didn't come as a surprise when they found that the queues in Gringotts almost reached past the doors and out in the street. They spent three quarters of an hour waiting patiently and staring at the back of the wizard in front of them; a giant of a man who stood at least twice as tall as Sirius, with long, wild-looking black hair and beard. For some reason, Sirius looked unordinary nervous at the man's presence, although he covered it up well. Harry, having learned not to ask suspicious questions when disguised, kept his mouth firmly shut.

Finally they got to talk to an extremely bored Goblin.

"I wish to exchange these for wizarding money," Sirius said, putting a few Muggle notes on the desk. "And then access vault number-"

"687," Harry supplied.

"Vault number 687," Sirius said.

"Right, right," the Goblin said in a bored voice. He glanced once on the notes and began counting up the appropriate number of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. "Griphook!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Hold on a moment. Take these two with you."

The Goblin Griphook had been about to escort the huge man to the vault entrance. Now he looked back with a faintly surprised expression. "But this customer has come for the object in vault 713!"

"I know what he's come for!" the teller snapped. "Just do it! I haven't got all day."

Griphook shrugged and beaconed Harry and Sirius to follow him. They entered a narrow stone cavern with tracks set in the sloping floor. The Goblin whistled and immediately a small cart came zooming, slowing to a halt beside them.

Griphook gave the huge wizard a critical look, before glancing at the cart. "I'm afraid there's not enough room for all three of you," the Goblin decided and scowled at the stranger as if it was his fault he was so big. "One of you will have to remain behind."

"I can go alone," Harry said to Sirius. "You just wait here." Sirius hesitated briefly before nodding.

Harry, the Goblin and the stranger climbed into the cart. Not without difficulty in the latter's case, due to his size. And off they went. The cart accelerated nearly instantly to breakneck speed, manoeuvring through a vast labyrinth of caves and tunnels. Left, right, left, left, left, right, middle fork, right, left, right, right, left fork, left, left, right… Harry had lost all sense of direction within moments.

Finally the cart came to a halt, and the stranger climbed out on unsteady legs. He had to lean against the wall for a moment, breathing in relief.

"Are you okay, sir?" Harry asked concerned.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," the man said and gave Harry a weak smile. "Just don't like those carts, see?"

Griphook walked past him and rubbed a long, thin finger on the vault-door. The door suddenly vanished into thin air. Harry, having expected to see a huge pile of gold or jewels, was disappointed to find that the vault was empty. At least that's what he thought at first. A second glance revealed a tiny bundle thrown carelessly on the floor.

The big man took the bundle and put it in a pocket. "That'll be all," he said to the Goblin.

Harry wondered why such a small thing required a high-security vault, but kept his tongue. It wasn't his business after all.

They all climbed back into the cart and began another reckless journey through the caverns and tunnels, this time past an underground waterfall and several ravines. The stranger sitting beside Harry groaned when they passed one of the latter. Harry worried that the man might get sick and throw up all over them; the small part of his face that wasn't covered by tangled beard was growing progressively paler.

Luckily, the cart stopped outside vault 687 before that could happen. When the door to his vault opened, Harry was presented with the view of piles upon piles of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. He sucked in breath at the sight. True, he had never lacked anything when growing up with Sirius, but he had also never held command over much money himself. That he was the owner of this fortune left him with a decidedly giddy sensation.

He spent some time looking around the piles of money, but to his disappointment found nothing else in the vault.

_I suppose all they ovned were destroyed with their house. Would have been nice to have a few pictures of them, though._

At Griphook's somewhat impatient cough, Harry gave himself a shake and quickly scooped up a few Galleons as pocket money before closing the vault. After one last wild ride with the cart, he exited Gringotts along with Sirius.

"Do you know that man?" Harry asked in a low voice, as soon as the stranger was outside of earshot.

"That was Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper at Hogwarts. I was worried he might recognize us, disguises or no. We used to be good friends before I was framed," Sirius added sadly.

"He isn't dangerous, is he?" Harry asked, thinking of the man's intimidating appearance.

"Hagrid? Oh, no, no!" Sirius laughed. "He's about as dangerous as a hamster. Well, unless you are dumb enough to speak ill of Dumbledore in his presence; _that_ does tend to do bad things to your health."

III

Next, Sirius bought Harry school robes at _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_, before buying the necessary books at _Flourish & Blotts_, potion ingredients at _Slug & Jiggers Apothecary_, and a beautiful snowy owl Harry decided to name Hedwig at _Eeylops Owl Emporium_.

At that point they decided to take a short break, buying two ice-cream cones (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts) from Florean Fortescue. Afterward, they went to Ollivander's to buy what Harry had wanted most – his own wand. Up until then he had used his mother's wand, which Sirius had given him on his eight birthday. It had served him well enough, but it still wasn't a perfect fit.

Mr Ollivander's shop turned out to be rather shabby, with walls lined floor to ceiling with thousands of narrow boxes.

"Mr Ollivander?" Sirius called.

"No need to shout. I'm right here."

Both Harry and Sirius jumped. Somehow, an old gentleman with grey hair and eerie, moonlike eyes had managed to slip behind them without being seen. Now he looked at Sirius with a puzzled expression. "I remember each and every wand I have ever sold, but yet I can't recall ever having sold a wand to you, Mr…"

"Evans," Sirius supplied. "I immigrated from Canada with my son eight years ago, and I already had a wand by then."

Mr Ollivander stared at Sirius for a moment longer with an unreadable expression and Harry half-expected him to shout: "Liar!"

"Very well," he said finally and moved his stare to Harry. "You are starting at Hogwarts, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

Mr Ollivander gave him critical look before vanishing behind the register. Two or three minutes later, he reappeared with a box. He opened it and took out the wand, smiling as he held it toward Harry. "Willow, nine inches, with a single unicorn hair. Go on, give it a flick."

Harry did as he was told, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost immediately. "No, no, no. Let's see-" He vanished amid the stacks of boxes and returned moments later with a new wand. "Mahogany, thirteen inches, with dragon's heartstring."

That one didn't fit either. However, Mr Ollivander didn't seem disappointed at all.

"Difficult customer, eh?" Mr Ollivander murmured. "Don't you worry. We'll find one."

For every wand that didn't fit, the strange shop-owner seemed to grow more and more pleased. Fifteen minutes and twenty-four wands later he was all but crackling with glee. Harry couldn't help but stare at this strange behaviour.

"He's always been like that," Sirius whispered to him. "Love a professional challenge."

"I wonder," Harry heard Mr Ollivander mutter to himself. "I wonder if-" He brought out a dusty box and opened it. "Try this one. Holly, eleven inches, with a single phoenix feather."

Harry took it, and as soon as his fingers touched the polished wood, a sense of wellbeing washed over him. He smiled and waved the wand, causing a shower of red sparks to fly out of the tip.

"Hah! An excellent fit!" Mr Ollivander exclaimed delightedly. "It's a bit peculiar, though."

Harry looked up. "Peculiar, sir?"

Mr Ollivander grew sombre. "Yes. You see, the phoenix that donated a tail-feather to that wand, also donated another feather for another wand… which I sold to a wizard who would eventually become known as the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Harry froze, and he heard Sirius suck in a breath behind him.

"I see you realize the implications," Mr Ollivander said with a nod to Sirius. "Your son's new wand is the brother of the wand that gave the Boy-Who-Lived his scar."

III

The next day they used Side-Along-Apparition to travel from Padfoot's Den to a blind ally near King's Cross.

"Remember that the _Daily Prophet_ has been howling for years about how I have 'corrupted' you and taught you the Dark Arts," Sirius had said before he transformed into his Animagus-form. "So be prepared that some people's reactions may be a little extreme, once they realize who you are."

With Padfoot by his side, Harry walked to the spot where the magical barrier separated the Muggle and Wizarding parts of the station. They had decided that it made little sense for Harry to wear a disguise. Since he was going to Hogwarts, he sooner or later had to make a public appearance as himself anyway. Still, Harry nervously patted his fringe and made sure it covered his scar, as they made their way through the crowd of Muggles.

_Platform Nine – Platform Ten. There it is,_ Harry thought, eyeing the barrier. Beside him, Padfoot gave an encouraging bark.

"…full of Muggles, of course."

The word 'Muggles' wrenched his attention from the barrier to a short, plump woman surrounded by four boys and one girl, all of them with flaming red hair. They all kept a steady course toward the magical barrier. Harry resisted an urge to clap a hand to his forehead; of course there would be wizards on the Muggle side of the station, too.

He followed the wizarding family to the barrier, watching as a tall boy with horn-rimmed spectacles marched through it. At that point, the girl suddenly saw Hedwig in her cage. Her eyes widened and she tugged at her mother's sleeve excitedly, pointing at Harry.

"Mum, look!"

The mother looked from Hedwig to Harry and made the obvious connection. "First year at Hogwarts, dear?" she asked warmly.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry answered.

"Ron's new, too," she said, pointing at one of her sons; a tall, incredibly freckled fellow with a rather long nose. "These two troublemakers are starting their third year," she continued, indicating a pair of identical twins.

After exchanging nods with the redheads, Harry looked down at Padfoot who had remained quiet throughout the encounter. "Okay, you walking flea-bag; I think I can take it from here. Run home, and _try_ to keep out of trouble."

Padfoot barked once, paused to rub his head against Harry's side, before bouncing off and disappearing amid the crowd.

III

It was with a sigh of relief that Harry found an empty cab and put his trunk into place. Platform 9 3/4 was far more chaotic than Diagon Alley on its worst; parents saying goodbye to their children, people searching for lost luggage, children crying because they can't find their parents, and people of all possible ages generally milling around like crazy. For someone who had grown up in the quiet at Padfoot's Den, the sheer confusion was almost overwhelming.

Harry more fell than sat down in his seat, just savouring the relative silence. It didn't last longer than a few moments, before the door went up and the pair of twins he had met earlier stuck their heads in.

"Excuse us; have you seen our brother?" one of them asked.

The other made a face. "Mum wants to give him one last hug, before… before…" He trailed off, as his eyes grew so wide they seemed in danger of popping out of his skull.

Harry looked from one pale face to the other in confusion. "What?"

The twin who had spoken first gaped at him and lifted a hand to point at Harry's forehead. "But you- you are-"

Harry's hand flew to his scar. "Oh, that," he said quickly. "Well, umm, I can explain-"

But Harry didn't get the chance to explain anything, because both twins recoiled out of the cab and slammed the door shut.

"Great," he muttered darkly to himself. "Wonderful start."

Harry spent the next few moments wondering how he was suppose to function at Hogwarts, if all the other students also reacted like that. He had a brief mental image of himself walking down a corridor with half the students at the school trampling each other down in an effort to get away from him.

_Now don't be silly,_ he thought to himself. _Once they realize I don't know anything more about the Dark Arts than they do, things will get better._

"Oh, shut up and let me through!"

The bellow coming from just outside his cab ripped Harry out of his thoughts. He rose from his seat and opened the door to see what was going on.

One of the redheads he had met outside the barrier – Ron, Harry remembered his name was – were standing in the corridor, carrying a trunk and with his face flushed as red as his hair. The object of his anger and frustration appeared to be a boy with pale, blonde hair, who was standing with his back to Harry. A pair of large boys flanked him; one with a pudding-bowl haircut, the other with short and bristly hair. Together, the three boys were standing shoulder to shoulder from one side of the corridor to the other, blocking the way.

"I don't think so, Weasley," the blonde boy drawled. "All the carts in this part of the train are reserved for the elite, not blood-traitors so poor they can't distinguish Galleons from pig-droppings."

The two boys standing to each side of him grunted in laughter. Ron flushed an even darker red and seemed to ready himself for an explosion, but Harry had heard enough to realize that the blonde boy was what Sirius called 'the worst kind of pureblood'.

Making sure his new wand was in place in his sleeve, Harry said: "Why don't you get your scrawny arse out of the way and let decent people pass?"

The boy scowled over his shoulder, and so did his two companions. "And who are you?" he demanded to know.

"None of your concern," Harry said coldly. Ron seemed to have calmed down a little over the appearance of this unexpected help, but he was still glaring death at the blonde which now turned to fully face Harry.

"Well, I have you know that I'm Draco Malfoy," the boy said proudly and drew himself up. "These two are Crabbe and Goyle."

The boy's last name triggered something in Harry's memory. "You don't happen to be the son of _Lucius_ Malfoy, do you?"

"That's right," Malfoy confirmed, smirking. "I see you've heard of us."

Harry's eyes narrowed in distaste. "Yes. Your father used to be best chums with the bastard who murdered my family. A pity the Ministry didn't throw him in Azkaban."

Malfoy blanched at the way Harry referred to Voldemort. "You will not speak of my father that way!" he snapped. "If your family were killed by the Dark Lord, they were probably mudbloods who deserved it!"

"That's enough," Harry growled and moved his wrist so that his wand fell down into his waiting hand. "Last warning. Get your arrogant arse out of the way."

Malfoy answered by attempting to draw his own wand, but was _far_ too slow.

_Crack!_

Before anyone could react, Harry had snapped off an incantation. There was an abrupt blur of motion, and suddenly Malfoy were dangling upside-down from the ceiling. Magical rope were wrapped around his arms, chest and ankles, from which he hung suspended above the floor like a side of beef.

"What the-!" he began, but Harry pointed his wand at Malfoy's head and said: "Silencio!"

Crabbe and Goyle were still blinking in consternation at the sudden turn of events. Now they both made moves to grab their own wands.

"Try," Harry said quietly, which made both boys freeze. "If you think you're fast enough. But I'm warning you; I know some rather interesting curses."

The pair stared at him for a few seconds, glanced at Malfoy who were now struggling and raging impotently, glanced at each other – and slowly began to back down the corridor.

Transferring his attention to Ron he grinned and said, "There's an empty cab over here, if you'd like."

Ron had stared at him in something approaching awe. Now he grinned hugely. "Sure!"

He made his way past the dangling Malfoy and into the cab. Harry entered after him and closed the door.

"That was absolutely brilliant!" Ron exclaimed as he put his trunk into place. "He kept pestering me about the purity of his blood, his family's wealth, their connections and stuff like that. Bloody annoying. And I couldn't get past him either, with those two goons of his."

Harry opened the window to let some fresh air in. "I know what you mean. I have nothing against Purebloods in general, but-" He stopped himself when he saw Ron glance out the window and suddenly sink down in the seat opposite Harry, apparently trying to become as small as possible.

"My mother's right outside," he whispered and made a face. "She always gets weepy right before the train leaves. I hate that."

"Mum, mum!" came a voice from outside. Harry recognized as belonging to one of the twins he had just met.

"There you are. Did you find Ron?" said the mother. "But what's the matter, Fred? You're so pale!"

"Mum, do you remember the black-haired boy you talked to outside the barrier?" the twin – Fred – said so quickly the words almost overlapped each other.

"Yes, but-"

"That was Harry Potter!"

Ron bolted upright and let out a half-strangled sound. Under other circumstances, Harry might have found the incredulous, pop-eyed look that came his way funny.

"It's okay," Harry said quickly, not wanting Ron to run away like the twins had. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Now don't be silly, Fred," came the mother's voice after a moment's pause. "Why would he of all people be on the Hogwarts Express?"

"It's true!" said Fred's brother. "I saw the scar. It's right there, shaped like a lightning-bolt."

There was another pause, in which nearly all colour vanished from Ron's face. Harry began worrying that he might pass out or do something drastic.

"Fred and George; you'll stay here and watch Ginny," the mother said firmly. "I'll go get Ron and Percy."

The twin's immediately began to object. "But Mum, how are we going to get to Hogwarts?"

"And Ron will miss his sorting!"

"No buts!" the mother said sharply. "Heaven knows what Sirius Black has taught the boy. He could be dangerous!"

"Look, I'm not a dark wizard," Harry tried to reassure Ron. "I don't know anything more about the Dark Arts than you do. I'm here to attend Hogwarts, just like you."

Ron's mouth opened and closed a few times before he got a word out. "Hogwarts? But- you- Sirius Black- he-" He paused to swallow. "I don't understand."

Harry sighed. "It's a rather long story."

"…and besides he could never have gotten onboard the train without a ticket," Fred's voice came through the window.

"Dumbledore _must_ know he's onboard," his brother agreed. "We'll just alert the Prefects if they don't already know. Potter is, what, eleven? He can't possibly be that dangerous."

"I don't know, George…" the mother hesitated.

Right then there was a whistle further down the platform, and the train slowly began to move.

"We've got to go, Mum," George said.

"We'll be fine," his brother added. "Ron, too."

"Alright, but find Ron and Percy as fast as you can," the mother called after them. "And alert the Prefects. I'll be Flooing the Headmaster."

Harry sighed and drew his wand. Ron's eyes grew if possible even bigger and he seemed to stop breathing. Harry tossed his wand over to him and he flinched violently from the sudden movement. The redhead blinked in surprise and confusion at the wand now lying in his lap.

"Now you are armed and I am not," Harry lied. His mother's wand was still in his right pocket. "Could you _please_ calm down a little now?"

Ron tentatively touched Harry's wand, as if afraid it was going to bite him. He looked up. "I don't understand," he repeated quietly. "Did you escape from Sirius Black?"

"No, it was Sirius who sent me here. Listen, just about everything you've ever heard about us is false. Everything. Sirius was never a Death Eater, he hasn't taught me the Dark Arts, and he has never killed anybody."

"But he kidnapped you-"

"From my Muggle relatives who didn't take properly care of me," Harry interrupted. "I have lived with him for ten years, and he's never-"

The door to the cab suddenly went up, revealing a pair of nervous-looking twins. Both had their wands drawn, and Ron looked very relieved at their appearance.

"Alright Ron, let's go," one of them said. Their eyes never wavered from Harry.

"Um, he gave me his wand," Ron said, holding Harry's wand up. "Says he's here to attend Hogwarts."

The twins looked at their brother in surprise, before returning their gaze to Harry.

"Why don't you two sit down, and I'll explain why I'm here," Harry said quietly. When they hesitated, he quickly added: "Dumbledore knows I'm on the train, you know. He gave me the ticket personally."

The pair looked at each other. One crocked a brow. The other seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, let's hear it." They closed the door behind them and sat down beside their brother.

Harry readied himself for a long explanation. "I suppose it started when my parents decided to go into hiding, using the Fidelius Charm. The charm works by…"

III

A rat named Scabbers ran across the platform, dodging left and right to avoid being stepped on. Beside him the Hogwarts Express were slowly gaining speed. It stopped for a while, its tiny head looking around as if searching for something. Apparently finding what it looked for, it darted past a set of parents in the direction of a mother and her daughter.

Scabbers, however, was no ordinary rat.

Camouflaged by his animagus-form, Peter Pettigrew kicked himself for losing track of the date. How could he possibly have forgotten that Harry was scheduled to attend Hogwarts this year? On the other hand, he had never dreamed that Sirius would be so daring he'd send his godson to Hogwarts without first clearing his name.

Finally he reached the girl named Ginny Weasley and squeaked to get her attention.

"Mum, look! It's Scabbers." She bent down and gathered Pettigrew up in her hands.

"He must have escaped from Ron, dear," Mrs Weasley said absently, continuing to walk briskly toward the barrier. "Ron will have to be without Scabbers this year."

Ginny hurried after her mother. "Can't we send him with Errol?"

"Now don't be silly, Ginny. Owls eat rats."

_And so do the bloody garden-gnomes,_ Pettigrew thought in dismay. _It's wonder I've survived this long._

III

_As always, a big thanks goes to my beta-reader; the Phoenix King._


	3. The Art of Being Convincing

**Chapter 3: The Art of Being Convincing**

"So there you have it," Harry said, hoarse after talking for over an hour. "After rescuing me from the Dursleys, he took me to a safe-house he had prepared in advance. I've lived with him ever since."

The three brothers sitting before him gave each other doubtful glances. The twins both had their wands out and looked ready to hex him if he as much as breathed wrong. Ron fidgeted in his seat, and Harry was beginning to regret handing the redhead his new wand.

"That seems like a rather fantastic tale to me. Right, George?" Fred said, frowning. Harry was slowly learning to distinguish between the two twins by the subtly different pattern of freckles on their faces.

His brother nodded agreement. "I've never heard of Pettigrew being a rat-Animagus," George said. "And that's a little odd. I don't think there's been more than half a dozen registered Animagi this century."

"He's unregistered," Harry said quickly. "They became Animagi while still in school, and didn't want to face the high fines-"

"In school?" Fred interrupted incredulously. "Are you telling us he did it while still at Hogwarts?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, cursing himself for his slip of tongue. "Well… yes," he admitted, deciding to stick with the truth.

George snorted. "No way. Not even a seventh year could have preformed the necessary ritual without help. Besides-"

"One moment," Fred said, holding up a finger. "You said that _they_ did it while still in school. There was actually more?"

Harry looked from one expectant face to another. "Umm… Sirius and my father."

Fred and George gave him identical looks of disbelief, and even Ron – who had not said a word since the twins entered – rolled his eyes.

"Are you telling us that there were once _three_ unregistered Animagi at Hogwarts?" George demanded incredulously.

"Who on top of it all managed to keep it secret for so many years?" Fred added.

"Look, why would I lie?" Harry demanded in exasperation. "If you are correct, then it means that I'm protecting the man who betrayed my parents to Voldemort!"

There were three sharp intakes of breath, and Ron snapped stared wide-eyed at Harry. "You- you said it!" he gasped. "I had thought- That you of all people-"

"What?" Harry said, looking at the startled expressions in confusion. "Said what?"

"His name! You-Know-Who's name!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "So what? It's just a name."

Fred gave himself a shake and seemed to pull himself together. "Alright, so it doesn't make any sense for you to protect Sirius Black. But that tale of yours still seem rather fantastic to me." He thought for a moment. "What's the Animagus-forms of your father and Black?"

"My father was a stag, and Sirius is a-" Harry's mischievous side suddenly screamed stop, and he quickly changed what he was about to say. "Remember the big, black dog that accompanied me to King's Cross?"

"Yes?"

Harry said nothing.

Ron's eyes bulged. "You're not telling me that was Sirius Black!"

"Why do you think I told him to stay out of trouble?" Harry said, chuckling at Ron's expression. "After all, old Padfoot wasn't too good at that on Hogwarts."

"Padfoot?" Fred said, suddenly interested. "You called him Padfoot?"

"That's his nickname," Harry explained.

The twins gave each other a short glance, then George leaned forward eagerly. "Did he have any friends with funny nicknames like that?"

"Yes, actually," Harry said, a bit surprised. "My father was Prongs. Then there was Remus Lupin, whose nickname is Moony. And Pettigrew, the treacherous rat, is Wormtail."

"And they chose their nicknames based upon their Animagus-forms, right?" Fred asked excitedly.

"Obviously, yes," Harry said, a bit bewildered over their behaviour. "Why do you ask?"

The two twins looked questioningly at each other. Fred raised an eyebrow. His brother seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded firmly. Their wordless conversation complete, they turned to face Harry with identical grins.

"Fred Weasley here," Fred said and rose to shake Harry's hand vigorously.

"And I'm George," the other twin said, grabbed Harry's other hand and pumped it up and down. "Otherwise known as Gred and Forge. Suppose you're Prongs, Jr., then."

Harry was rather surprised but also pleased at the sudden turn of events. "Actually that's 'Mr Raven' to you," he said in a passable imitation of Malfoy's drawl.

"Pleased to meet you," George said, finally letting go of Harry's hand and turning to Fred. "Shall we then go, good sir?"

"Yes, I do believe Lee Jordan mentioned having a huge tarantula," Fred agreed and opened the door.

Ron bolted upright in his seat. "Are you leaving?" he demanded in alarm. "Do you believe him?"

"Certainly," Fred said and stepped outside without further comment.

George stopped in the door and looked back at his younger brother. "Doubt he's dangerous unless you annoy him." And with that, he closed the door after him.

Ron stared at the door for a long moment with a betrayed expression, before turning his gaze toward Harry and biting his lip. Harry said nothing and just looked back expectantly, hoping that he had managed to convince three people today.

"All right then," Ron finally sighed, tossing back Harry's wand. "Anyone who strings up a Malfoy like a side of beef can't be a dark wizard." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Harry grinned and put his wand back in the holster. "You don't like his particular type of pureblood, either?"

Ron shook his head. "Naw. I mean, my own family has been wizards and witches for generations, but we don't buy into any of the 'purity of blood' talk. Dad is actually crazy after all sorts of Muggle gadgets-"

He stopped himself as the door went up again, revealing a girl about their age with lots of bushy brown hair. She put her hands on her hips, glaring at Harry and Ron. "What do you two know about the boy who was hexed right outside your compartment?" she demanded in a bossy sort of voice.

Harry and Ron exchanged grins. "What boy are you talking about?" Harry asked innocently. The girl seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her.

The girl's eyes narrowed. "The boy who hung from the ceiling, wrapped in about a mile of magical rope. The boy who said that someone in _this_ compartment did it to him."

Ron snickered and said nothing.

"Well, then he has to be mistaken, don't he?" Harry said in the same innocent tone. For some absurd reason, the girl reminded him of books. "We are both first years who doesn't know any magic, yet."

She stared suspiciously at him for a moment. "What's your name?"

"Harry."

"Harry, what?"

Suddenly he remembered where she had seen her before; on the public library in Penzance. "You know, it's rude demanding to know the names of others without introducing yourself first, _Hermione_," Harry said, stressing her name.

Hermione blinked in surprise. "How do you know my name?"

"We _bumped_ into each other at a library in Penzance," Harry said, and waited expectantly for her reply.

For a moment she just looked at him in confusion, before her eyes widened in realization. "But you don't look anything like him!" she exclaimed.

"Of course not," Harry said matter-of-factly. "After all, I had brown eyes and blonde hair at the time."

She gaped at him. "But you- But I-"

Ron laughed at her dumbstruck expression. Hermione shut her mouth with a click and gave him a murderous glare, before turning back to Harry who grinned back cheekily at her.

"How come you were disguised?" she demanded. Suddenly her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward to peer at him. "What's that?"

Harry shifted under her gaze. "What's what?"

She pointed a finger at his forehead. "That. On your forehead."

"Oh," Harry said and patted his fringe. "Well-"

"It's a scar isn't it?" she asked, still with the same intense stare that made Harry feel like a bacteria being examined by a Muggle scientist under a microscope. "Shaped like a lightning-bolt. You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Um, yes," Harry said. On the other side of the compartment, Ron held his breath.

Hermione straightened and gave him a look of incredulity. "Then what on Earth are you doing on this train? You're a dark wizard, it says so in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_!"

Harry finally lost his patience. "Well, then _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ is wrong then, isn't it?" he snapped. He jumped up from his seat and shoved her roughly out of the compartment. "Get out of here! Out!" Slamming the door shut he sat back down, still fuming.

Harry scowled down at the floor, wondering how many others would react like Hermione and Ron's mother. How was he suppose to get anything done, if he couldn't convince people that he wasn't about to begin casting Unforgivables on them?

On the other side of the compartment, Ron shifted in his seat and gave Harry an uneasy glance. "So, what have you and Sirius Black been doing these years?" he asked timidly, in an attempt to start a conversation.

"A little of this and a little of that," Harry said evasively. He wasn't about to bring up his rather unorthodox training in self-defence. Ron still seemed rather nervous to him. "We've just tried to keep our heads down, basically. By the way, I've got my photo album with me. Want to see?"

At Ron's nod he lifted down his trunk and opened the secret compartment, where he stored his most prized possessions. He took out a photo album titled: "Memorable Pranks" and handed it to Ron, before putting the trunk back into place.

"Memorable Pranks?" Ron asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes, old Padfoot has been on the receiving end of quite a few over the years," Harry said slyly.

Ron gaped at him. "You _pranked_ Sirius Black?" he demanded in a sort of horrified fascination. Despite everything Harry had told him, he was apparently still under the impression that pranking Sirius was just a strange way of committing suicide.

Harry gestured toward the photo album in Ron's lap. "Well, open it, then," he said impatiently and sat down beside him.

Ron did as he was told, and promptly goggled in shock. The first picture was of Sirius standing in the living room in a robe that had been changed into a pale pink dress, adorned with red hearts. As if the alteration to his robe wasn't insult enough, someone had not only transfigured his hair into a spiky mess, but also coloured it in a particularly glaring shade of yellow. It clashed so horribly with his clothes it made both Harry and Ron blink. The picture of Sirius looked faintly sick as he stared down on his robe-turned-dress in distaste, before looking up at them to shake his first. He couldn't quite keep the corners of his mouth from quirking up, however.

Ron seemed to be at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed several times, before he finally regained his voice and blurted out: "And he didn't kill you?"

Harry scowled at him.

"Not that he would," Ron hastily added. "I just thought that he might, um, get angry. Or something."

"Oh, not as long as I remember the First Rule of Pranking," Harry said. Seeing Ron's clueless expression, he quoted: "'It's okay to prank, but not to be cruel.' Sirius said he learned that the hard way. Whatever that means."

Once Ron got over the shock, they had a good time looking through Harry's photo album, pausing only to buy a dozen chocolate frogs from the witch pulling the tea trolley. They were chuckling over a picture of Harry with pink hair, vainly trying to fend off the romantic affections of a pillow, when the door to their compartment went up yet again.

A tall and thin boy with a Prefect's badge and horn-rimmed spectacles stood in the opening, scowling darkly at them. His bright red hair gave him away as another of Ron's brothers. For a moment Harry was certain he had caught a short glimpse of bushy brown hair behind him.

"Hello, Percy," Ron said. "It's okay-"

"What's your name?" Percy demanded. His eyes flickered around as if he wasn't sure of who or what to look at.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry sighed and braced himself.

Percy's scowl deepened. "Let me see your ticket," he ordered, addressing a point a few inches above Harry's left shoulder.

Harry dug into his pocket and gave him the ticket Dumbledore had given him. Despite the impressive glare Percy was now sending at the ticket, Harry had a feeling that he was actually rather nervous and trying to cover it up by appearing angry.

"Where did you get this?" Percy asked suspiciously, looking up.

"From Professor Dumbledore," Harry said. "If Hermione has a problem with that, I suggest she take it up with him."

There was a gasp from somewhere outside the compartment, followed by rapidly retreating steps.

Percy seemed to debate with himself over what to do. After a few moments, he apparently came to a decision and turned toward his brother. "All right. Let's go, Ron."

Ron glanced at Harry. "No, I think I'd rather stay."

"_Stay?_" Percy repeated in disbelief. "Ron, that's Harry Potter you're sitting next to!"

"And guess what; I haven't tried to kill him," Harry said, annoyed.

Percy gave him a look that clearly said he didn't expect the situation to last. "No arguments, Ron," he said firmly. "You're coming with me."

"I said no," Ron said stubbornly. "I don't think he's any dangerous."

"Have you gone crazy?" Percy exclaimed in exasperation. "Haven't you heard what the Ministry has said about him? He has already hexed one student, and Sirius Black has had ten years to teach him all kinds of Dark Arts-" Percy suddenly stopped himself as a look of horror appeared on his face. "The Imperius Curse," he whispered at Harry. "You're using the Imperius Curse on him, aren't you?"

"Of course not!" Harry said, offended and angry. "I-"

Percy didn't wait to listen. Wide-eyed and pale, he whipped out his wand from a pocket and shouted: "Expelli-"

He never got any further. Harry's right hand moved with abnormal speed. "Stupefy!"

The pulse of red light knocked Percy backwards and sent him sprawling on the floor outside the compartment. Cursing, Harry jumped up and levitated Percy's prone form back inside, shutting the door behind them.

"This is just wonderful," Harry muttered sarcastically to himself, as he deposited the older boy on a seat. "I've already hexed two students – one of them a Prefect! – and I haven't even arrived at Hogwarts, yet."

Ron had put away the photo album and stood. "What are you going to do?" he asked worriedly.

"Disarm him, I suppose," Harry sighed. He took Percy's wand, which was still in his grip, and pocketed it. Then he pointed his own wand at Percy and said, "Ennervate."

Percy lifted his head and looked around groggily. "Eh?"

"Morning, Percy," Harry said wryly, sitting back down.

Percy's face went white as he realized what had just happened, and that he was now unarmed.

_This is going to be a really long trip,_ Harry thought and grabbed the bag of chocolate frogs he had bought earlier. "Chocolate frog?" he offered.

III

On the train station, they were rounded up by the enormous man Sirius had identified as Rubeus Hagrid, and then led down a path to the lake where a small fleet of boats waited for them. Percy the Prefect had stumbled off the train and boarded a horseless carriage, as soon as Harry gave him his wand back. Ron was still with him, though.

Despite growing up listening to Sirius' stories about Hogwarts, the castle was even more magnificent than he had imagined. It was massively huge and imposing, with a jumble of towers and battlements. Judging by the gasps coming from the other first years as they were ferried across the lake, quite a few found Hogwarts pretty intimidating. Not Harry. He drew in a deep breath of utter satisfaction as they were taken into the Entrance Hall, and his green eyes glittered in the twilight.

Inside, a strict-looking witch who identified herself as Professor McGonagall met them, and lectured a bit about the different houses. "You'll soon be brought into the Great Hall to be sorted, and I suggest you tidy yourself up as best as possible," she concluded, glancing at Harry's shoulder-length hair and Ron's too-short robe. Turning, she left through the doors to the Grand Hall.

Exited whispers broke out almost immediately. "How d'you think we'll be sorted?" Ron asked Harry nervously. "My parents refused to tell me a single word about it."

Harry shrugged, feeling a bit giddy himself. "Have no idea. Sirius said we had to duel Dumbledore – but I'm sure he was joking," he quickly added when Ron blanched.

A chubby boy beside them gave a nervous laugh. "My grandmother said they'd measure our talents. Whatever that meant." A toad tried to crawl out of one of his pockets and escape. The boy quickly stuffed it back inside and offered Harry a hand. "Name's Neville, by the way."

"I'm Harry," Harry said, shaking the boy's hand. "This is Ron."

McGonagall returned a few minutes later, clearing her throat to catch everyone's attention. "Everything is ready, now. Please form a line and come with me."

"Excuse me, Professor," a girl's voice spoke up. Harry bit back a groan when he saw it belonged to that Hermione-girl he and Ron had met on the train. Now she was pointing a finger directly at Harry. "Are you aware that Harry Potter is here?"

There were startled intakes of breath as every head turned to stare at him. Beside him, Neville went white with shock. A few quick-thinking first years began backing away from him, and that spurred on the others. Suddenly, there was a mad scramble to get as far away from Harry as possible, while still staying in the Entrance Hall.

"HALT!"

McGonagall's shouted command brought all activity to a sudden stop. Dozens of eyes turned toward her, some pleading and some filled with panic.

"You will cease and desist this foolish behaviour at once!" she barked. Her piercing eyes swept across those assembled. "Mr Potter is here with the Headmaster's knowledge and permission, and you will treat him like you would any other student."

Many of the first years just gaped at her, and there were murmurs of disbelief and confusion.

"Enough!" McGonagall said sharply. "The Sorting is about to begin. Form a line and follow me."

There was some more confusion and chaos, as everyone tried to form a line that didn't leave them with their backs toward Harry. Eventually, McGonagall sorted them out. Hermione and Neville were unlucky enough to end up right in front of Harry and Ron. Particularly Neville looked less than pleased with the arrangement, and had managed to become ashen during the few, short minutes that had passed.

As the line began to move, Ron leaned forward and whispered: "It's okay, Neville. Honest."

Neville gave him a look of desperation over his shoulder, and said nothing.

Although Harry was gloomy due to his reception so far, he couldn't help but be amazed at his first look at the Great Hall. He had heard Sirius' descriptions of it, but nothing could substitute for the real thing. It was even vaster than he had imagined. Thousands of floating candles lightned up the huge room, and the ceiling displayed the evening-sky outside, just as Sirius had said it would.

Hundreds of heads turned to watch as McGonagall led them to the far end of the room. They came to a halt near the staff table, where an ancient, pointed hat rested on a stool. Harry wondered what this was all about. But then, to his surprise, a tear near the brim opened like a mouth and it began to sing:

_Oh you may not think me pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folks use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_

"That's it?" Ron exclaimed in disbelief as the applause broke out. "All we have to do is to try the hat on? Oh, I'll murder Fred! He was going on about having to wrestle a troll!"

Harry silently agreed and made a mental note to prank Sirius silly, when he went home for the summer.

McGonagall now unrolled a parchment and began calling out names. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A blonde girl with pigtails ran up to the stool and put the hat on. A moment passed, before the hat opened its mouth again and shouted: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Looking visibly relieved, she removed the hat and hurried over to the Hufflepuff table, where the students were applauding and welcoming her.

"Bones, Susan," McGonagall called.

The sorting went on for several more minutes. Hermione, whose last name turned out to be Granger, spent almost a full minute on the stool before the sorting hat decided she was a Gryffindor – to Harry's dismay. Neville Longbottom was also sorted into Gryffindor, although he forgot to take the hat off and almost ran off with it.

And then, finally:

"Potter, Harry!"

Whispers broke out all over the Great Hall as Harry left the line.

"Did she just say Potter?"

"Surly not _that_ Potter?"

"If it is, then Dumbledore has finally lost his last marble. That's a Slytherin for sure!"

"It can't be. Harry Potter would never be allowed in here."

Harry glanced around nervously as he approached the stool. Quite a few students were taking out their wands from various pockets. _Not here in the Great Hall,_ he thought fervently. _Dear Merlin, not here in the Great Hall._ Without thinking, he brushed his fringe out of his eyes.

Damage done, a girl he brushed past saw his scar and went white with shock. She made a half-strangled sound that sounded like, "Gikk!" before she promptly fainted and slid down to the floor.

The boy sitting beside her gaped at her for a moment, before looking back up at Harry.

"You killed her!"

III


	4. Welcome to Hogwarts

**Chapter 4: Welcome to Hogwarts**

"You killed her!"

The accusation echoed across the Great Hall and cut off the mutters and whispers in an instant. Harry halted and stood stock-still as looks of horror came in the direction of him and the girl who had just fainted. For a tiny moment no-one spoke or moved, as the tension leaped up from moderate to dangerous levels. The heavy silence made the air seem to crackle with danger.

Abruptly, the calm broke like a rubber-band stretched too far. A pretty witch with long, black hair suddenly jumped up from the Ravenclaw-table to his left and shrieked: "Stupefy!" Nearly simultaneously, a chubby boy sitting by the Hufflepuff-table to Harry's right shouted: "Expelliarmus!"

Harry reacted instinctively, all higher brain functions swept aside. With an economical twitch of his wrist, the wand that lay concealed in his sleeve fell into his waiting hand.

"Protego!"

The two spells hit the invisible magical barrier, producing nothing but a harmless flash of light. Unfortunately, the sound of incantations being shouted caused a chain reaction among the students. Several panicked witches and wizards from all years jumped up and launched their own hexes, ranging from the mundane stunner to more creative (and painful) curses.

Harry leaped nimbly back, avoiding the bulk of the jets and bolts of light. He shielded himself against a Full Body Bind from a third year, dodged a silver jet of light and let it whistle past his shoulder harmlessly, spun deftly around to block a blasting curse before the incantation was hallway out of the attacker's mouth – and suddenly an oval of golden light formed around him just in time to stop three more stunners, two blasting curses, and at least one impediment jinx.

"STOP!"

The shouted command was one of Absolute Authority. Albus Dumbledore had risen from his seat, wand in hand, and both the twinkle in his eyes and the friendly smile Harry remembered from their last meeting had vanished. Now the ancient wizard's eyes were blazing with such ferocious power he couldn't bear to look into them. The man seemed to radiate magic the way a fire radiated heat.

"Tuck away your wands immediately," Dumbledore ordered sternly. "There will be no more unprovoked attacks upon fellow students in this Hall."

Every wand vanished from sight even before Dumbledore finished speaking. Harry found to his surprise that his own wand had somehow made its way back into his sleeve.

The golden shield surrounding Harry disappeared. "Professor Flitwick, would you please check on Ms Rawson?"

The smallest man Harry had ever seen was already running down the Great Hall. He came to a halt in front of the girl who had fainted and used a spell to revive her. "There you go," he said soothingly to the confused girl, helping her back to her seat. "You just fainted. No harm done."

Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. As much as I don't want to spoil the Sorting Feast for anyone, I must ask the heads of houses to punish those responsible. I can't condone such an unprovoked attack upon a fellow student."

Four of the teachers nodded grimly, and the black-haired Ravenclaw-girl hung her head in shame. Harry slowly let out a relieved breath. While his heart was still pounding like mad, the adrenaline-level was slowly dropping back to normal.

Beside the Sorting Hat, McGonagall cleared her throat. "Potter, Harry!" she called out again.

Wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible, Harry walked quickly up to the stool and put the Hat on. He clenched his teeth as it fell down in front of his eyes, hiding over a thousand pairs of eyes that stared at him with everything from fear to curiosity. Harry hoped no-one would loose their cool and start hexing him again, now that he couldn't see anything.

"Ah… Harry Potter," a small voice said in his ear. "Boy, have I been waiting for you! Let's see what we have here… you're hardworking and loyal almost to a fault; good, good. Not lacking in intelligence and talent either, my goodness, no! You are cunning and – this is interesting - have thirst to prove yourself. Plenty of courage, too. So… where shall I put you?"

_Gryffindor, if you don't mind,_ Harry thought nervously. _That's where Sirius and my parents were._

"Gryffindor? Why not, say… Slytherin?"

Harry blanched at the thought of Sirius reaction upon hearing he had been sorted into _Slytherin_ of all houses. _Not Slytherin!_ he thought desperately.

"But you would do very well in Slytherin," the Sorting Hat insisted. "While you show a distinct lack of ambition beyond proving Sirius Black innocent, the cunning your godfather has unwittingly nurtured through pranks and counter-pranks would serve you well on the path to greatness."

_But I don't _want_ any greatness,_ Harry argued.

"No? What if I put you in Slytherin anyway?"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. _Well, I suppose I'll just have to deal with it, then._

"Hah! That's what I thought you'd say – GRYFFINDOR!"

The Sorting Hat shouted the last word, and a shaken Harry took off the Hat with a gasp of relief. He, however, wasn't the only one who gasped. The entire Great Hall stared at him in dumbfounded disbelief. He rose and walked quickly over to the Gryffindor-table, but there was no applause or warm greeting for him. Dumbledore and a few of the teachers clapped their hands a few times, but it sounded so hollow they quickly stopped. Harry sat down beside Neville. The chubby boy gave him a look that was a mixture of incredulity and fear, and promptly moved further away.

The Sorting continued, although now most of the students were rather watching Harry while whispering among themselves. Harry had to keep himself from fidgeting. He felt like some sort of dangerous freak on display.

By the time Ron was sorted into Gryffindor, however, the students had returned to applauding and welcoming their new house-members. Ron was welcomed warmly and got slaps on his back from the twins. He got some surprised stares, too, when he sat down at the spot Neville had vacated, right beside Harry.

Finally the Sorting ended, and Dumbledore rose from his seat. "Welcome, everyone!" he beamed, like nothing could please him more than to see them all gathered there. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry! Before we begin the banquet, I have but one single thing to say: Willy Wonka is my hero!"

Harry snorted with laughter and wondered where Dumbledore had found Roald Dahl's book. But before he could wonder any more, the table in front of Harry was suddenly filled with roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs. Harry grinned and rubbed his hands in anticipation. All the excitement this day had given him a ravenous appetite.

III

"Now that we are full and content," Dumbledore said after the feast, "I have a few words to say before we retreat to our comfortable beds. First, I wish to inform our new first years that the Forbidden Forrest is indeed forbidden for students to enter, unless accompanied by a teacher. A few of our older students would also do well to remember that." His eyes twinkled merrily in the direction of the Weasley twins, who grinned back cheekily. "Second, this year I must warn you that the third-floor corridor is completely off-limits – unless you wish to suffer an unusually painful death, of course."

Harry and Ron looked questioningly at each other. Ron shrugged.

"Finally," Dumbledore continued, "I wish to remind everyone that the security and well-being of the students of Hogwarts has always been, and will always be, the faculty's first and primary concern."

Harry winced as nearly everyone in the Hall gave him nervous glances.

Dumbledore's voice became a tad sterner. "However, I hope you understand that unprovoked attacks upon _any_ student in this school will not be tolerated. Tonight I ask that you judge people by what they say or do, not by unsubstantiated rumours.

"That said, I think there's a few warm beds waiting for you. Prefects, please?"

Things got rather chaotic as the Prefects gave themselves a shake and began trying to shepherd students out of the Hall. The students, however, were far too busy discussing Dumbledore's speech to pay attention to them. In the end, Percy had to resort to sending up a shower of red sparks that exploded like fireworks, in order to get the Gryffindor first years in line.

"All right, follow me and I'll take you to the Gryffindor dormitories," Percy called, giving Harry a nervous glance. He had apparently not forgotten how easily Harry had stunned him.

Harry tried to break the tension by giving him a disarming smile. That was apparently a mistake, however, since Percy recoiled and his right hand twitched in the direction of his belt, where he had tucked his wand.

"Oi! Remember what Dumbledore said!" Ron snapped.

Percy gave his brother a long, unreadable look before he turned and began marching out the Great Hall, calling for the first years to follow him.

It was a rather odd procession that made its way toward Gryffindor tower. First went Percy and another Prefect Harry didn't know the name of. Percy kept glancing worriedly at Harry over his shoulder. Next came Harry and Ron with a ten-foot gap behind them and the other first years. Harry was really too tired to care, though. He just wanted to lay down on one of those warm beds Dumbledore had mentioned.

III

When he and Ron finally arrived at their dormitory, however, Harry had to force himself to turn his back on the bed and regard his new dorm-mates. They had been assigned a dormitory along with Neville and two other boys they didn't know. With the exception of Ron, all of them looked rather unhappy with the arrangement.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly before turning to a boy with sandy hair, who stood with shoulders hunched and looked almost as pale as Neville. A black boy even taller than Ron stood beside him, looking at Harry cautiously.

"I promise not to hex you, if you don't call me dark wizard," Harry tried to joke, striking out a hand. "I'm Harry, and you?"

The boy chuckled nervously and shook Harry's hand. "Seamus Finnigan."

"Dean Thomas," the black boy introduced himself with a smile. Harry guessed he was a Muggleborn who hadn't grown up hearing horror-stories about him and Sirius.

Harry turned to Neville, who gulped and stared back wide-eyed. His right hand was in his pocket, gripping something Harry wagered was his wand. "I don't think I caught your last name?" Harry said lightly.

"Lo-Longbottom," Neville stuttered.

Harry was about to say something to put the boy's fears at rest when something poked at his memory. "You don't happen to be the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, do you?"

"Yes, I am," Neville said, now with a hint of defiance in his voice, as if he expected Harry to taunt him about the condition of his parents.

"Sirius mentioned that my parents and yours used to be friends," Harry said. He leaned closer and added in a whisper: "And if you are anything like your parents, you'll go through Hogwarts like a storm."

Neville blinked at the unexpected compliment and suddenly stood straighter.

Harry found himself unable to stifle a yawn. "Look guys, I'm knackered. I'll go to bed now, and I guarantee you that you'll all be still alive tomorrow morning."

He couldn't help but notice that only Dean and Ron chuckled as he began changing into his pyjamas.

III

The next morning Seamus and Neville were dressed and out the door before Harry had woken up properly. Ron pulled aside the privacy-curtains and looked blearily at the door. "Blimey. You'd think something bit them."

Harry put on his spectacles and gave him a humourless smile. "Do you think they got any sleep at all last night?"

Ron shrugged. "Their loss. I'll hit the shower. Wait for me, okay?"

Harry nodded and began changing out of his pyjamas as Ron disappeared into the bathroom. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean finish putting on his school-robes.

"Um, Harry?" Dean said hesitantly.

Harry looked up from rummaging through his trunk. "What?"

Dean shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Look, I don't know what the big deal with you is. Everyone seems to be scared witless of you, but you don't look that dangerous to me."

Harry broke into a lopsided grin. "Glad to hear you think so." He dragged out a fresh Hogwarts-robe from the very bottom of the trunk and began putting it on.

"They said on the train that you killed this evil wizard when you were only one year old, and that you were kidnapped and raised by one of his followers." Dean gave him a nervous look, ad if he wondered if he had said too much.

"Not entirely correct, that last part," Harry said calmly. "I'll tell you what really happened after supper, if you want."

Dean nodded agreeably and vanished out the door.

When Harry and Ron walked down the stairs to the common room a few minutes later, they found a gang of three Gryffindors waiting for them. One of them, a rather big and broad shouldered boy with thick, straw-coloured hair and quite a few pimples, gave Harry a look of utter distaste before moving his eyes to Ron.

"Hey, you! Why are you with _him?_" he demanded with a scowl. He seemed to be at least two or three years ahead of them.

Ron scowled right back. "With Harry? Why shouldn't I be?"

"And who are you?" Harry added.

"The name's Mike Harper," the boy snarled, then gave Harry an expectant look.

"Can't say I've heard of you," Harry said coolly.

Harry's reply seemed to infuriate Harper. "No? Well, listen closely, then: I have no idea why the Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor of all houses, but if you know what's good for you, you'd better leave the _real_ Gryffindors alone," he snarled. "Do you understand me, Potter?"

"I'll make friends wherever I want, thank you," Harry said, glaring at the older boy. "If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with our head of house."

The boy flushed. Whether from anger or the thought of what the strict professor would say to him if he did, Harry couldn't say. His two companions looked uncomfortable. "Don't be a big-mouth with me, Potter. I don't take crap from anyone, particularly not Slytherin filth like you."

"Gryffindor, not Slytherin," Harry corrected calmly. He hoped his face didn't display any of the gnawing doubt he felt in the bottom of his stomach. The Sorting Hat had after all come within a hair of putting him into Slytherin, and had only made him a Gryffindor because Harry asked it to.

"Bollocks! I bet you put some sort of Dark spell on the Hat while everyone was distracted by the girl you made faint," Harper sneered. "No wonder it took so long until you were sorted."

Harry rolled his eyes and was about to explain to the moron exactly how ridiculous that was, when Ron beat him to it. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded hotly. "Did you hear anything at all of what Dumbledore said yesterday?"

Harper gave Ron a glare before turning back to Harry. "Been recruiting followers, already? I've heard rumours that you somehow already got the Weasley-twins."

"Right, whatever," Harry said in a bored voice. "Shall we now pretend that we're scared witless, so that we can get down to breakfast?"

Without waiting for an answer, Harry and Ron climbed out the portrait-hole. Harry half expected Harper to stop them, but he didn't.

"Keep in mind that we'll be watching you," the boy called after them. Harry gave him a sarcastic smile over his shoulder.

"What's _his_ problem?" Ron asked indignantly as the painting of the Fat Lady closed behind them. "Ordering us around like that! That arrogant git wouldn't know a 'real Gryffindor' from a garden-gnome!"

Ron kept ranting all the way to the Great Hall, and Harry had to struggle to keep a pleased smile from his face. Ron's indignation on Harry's behalf was worth a hundred confrontations like that. Sirius had told him to make an effort to make friends his own age, but with his reputation it had come as something of a surprise that Ron came around so quickly.

"What am I hearing?" a familiar voice suddenly said. Harry looked up to find the twins almost skipping toward them. "Did ickle Ronniekins just use words he definitely didn't learn at the Burrow?" Fred continued.

George wiped away an imaginary tear. "Our dear brother is growing up, Fred. It seems like it was only yesterday that he ran crying away from his teddy bear-turned-spider."

"Shut up!" Ron snapped, his ears turning pink. They both sat down at the Gryffindor-table.

"Why, I think he's a bit grumpy, George," Fred said, innocently. "Curious. It's a new year and a new day-"

"-with new pranks and new victims," George finished, sending a rather evil grin at a third year who froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

"We ran into a bloke who didn't think I should be friends with Ron," Harry started to explain, and told the twins all about the confrontation in the Gryffindor common room.

"Ah, yes," Fred sighed, taking a seat beside them. "Mike Harper. He's in mine and George's year. Most of his family was wiped out by a bunch of desperate Death Eaters, right after you got rid of You-Know-Who for us."

"But what does he have against Harry?" Ron frowned.

Fred exchanged a look with George, who shrugged back. "Well, there are rumours-"

"-that we don't believe in, mind you-" George added.

"-which say that Sirius Black participated in the murder of Mike's family."

Harry gaped at them. "But that's ridiculous!" Harry exclaimed. "There's no way Sirius would have done that!"

"We know, Harry," George said. "But Mike believes it, and he's also convinced you're another Dark Lord in training."

Harry was so stunned he had no idea what to say. Did Mike really believe Harry would become like the monster who murdered his parents?

"It'll blow over," Fred said and patted Harry on his shoulder. "Not many of the students are listening to him."

"Right then," George said cheerfully. "I believe we have a surprise to plan, Fred."

"Too right, oh brother of mine," Fred agreed and got up.

"I sincerely hope not, Mr Weasley," came a voice from behind them. They turned to find McGonagall giving them a stern look through her trademark square spectacles. "I would really hate to take points from Gryffindor this early in the semester."

"But Professor!" George exclaimed in shock. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you just accused us of planning to break the rules."

Fred clutched his heart in mortal pain. "After spending _hours_ thinking up this _special_ surprise for our common friend."

McGonagall's look didn't waver, but Harry could have sworn he saw a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Run along," she said, gesturing with her head. To Harry, she said: "I need a word with you, Mr Potter. Please accompany me to my office."

Something big and heavy settled into the bottom of Harry's stomach, but he obediently got up and followed her out of the Great Hall. Looking over his shoulder, he saw quite a few eyes following them. Ron and the twins with worry, the rest with curiosity. He didn't say a word as McGonagall lead him up a marble staircase and down a hallway, but his mind worked furiously. Had he done anything that warranted punishment? The image of an unconscious Percy Weasley flashed through his mind, and he coughed nervously.

McGonagall gave him a glance over her shoulder, before returning her attention to where they were going. Was stunning a Prefect enough to warrant expulsion? Surely not; many of the pranks the Marauders had pulled at Hogwarts had been far worse. On the other hand, none of the Marauders had ever had Harry's reputation.

His chain of thoughts stopped when stern professor opened the door to her office and motioned for Harry to go inside. Harry bit back a groan when he saw Percy standing stiffly in front of McGonagall's desk.

"Mr Weasley has made me aware of an incident that occurred on the Hogwarts Express," McGonagall said as she brushed past them and seated herself. She folded her hands in front of her. "I would like to hear your version of the event, Mr Potter."

Harry glanced briefly at Percy and sighed. "Well, it was like this; I and Ron Weasley were sitting in our compartment, looking through my photo album when Percy appeared." Percy suddenly shifted nervously, and McGonagall's eyebrows rose. "First he asked for my ticket, which I gave him. Then he told Ron to come with him. Ron refused, saying he preferred to stay with me. Percy insisted, and Ron refused again. At that point Percy accused me of using the Imperious Curse on Ron, and attempted to disarm me. So I stunned him."

McGonagall stared at him for a second, before giving Percy a hard look. "You never said anything about that," she said sharply. "Explain yourself!"

Percy winced. "I didn't think it was important to our discussion, Professor."

"Not important that you accused a first year of using an Unforgivable Curse, and then proceeded to attack him without provocation?" McGonagall snapped. "I think not!"

Turning back to Harry she continued in a somewhat calmer tone, "While illuminating, that was not the incident I referred to. I was speaking of Draco Malfoy who claims he was hexed by you."

Harry blinked and quickly put on a befuddled expression. "Malfoy? That blonde pureblood I saw on the Express? I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about, Professor. I overheard him ranting about purebloods and mud – erm, I'd rather not repeat what he said, but the term was hardly polite."

McGonagall's nostrils flared. "I see. Go on."

"Well, I didn't want to be associated with people like him, so I left. That was the last I saw of him, until the Sorting." Harry shrugged. "I suppose being hexed by evil Harry Potter sounds better than being hexed by a Muggleborn that didn't like his, er, political opinions."

The Professor frowned thoughtfully. "Very well," she said, coming to a decision. "Since it is his word against yours, I will not take further action regarding that specific incident. However," she turned to frown at Percy, whose ears grew red in embarrassment, "I can't have a Prefect attacking a student for pretty much no reason."

"Please, Professor," Harry spoke up. "I understand Percy's reaction, and I harbour no ill feelings for it. If I had a younger brother and I found him sitting with someone with my reputation, I would probably have reacted the same way." That was only half-way true, but he didn't want one of Ron's brothers to resent him just because of the consequences of that one incident.

"You are very mature, for someone so young," McGonagall said, cracking a slight smile. "Nevertheless, Mr Weasley will serve one night in detention with me. Since the semester hadn't officially begun during the incident, Gryffindor will not loose any points, though. And relax; your status as a Prefect will not be revoked."

Percy let out a hiss of relief, before he caught himself. "Yes, Professor."

McGonagall looked at her watch. "Then I suggest you go back to the Great Hall and get some breakfast before classes start."

They left McGonagall's office, Percy walking at a brisk pace. Harry half-ran to catch up. "Hey, Percy," he called and stuck out a hand. "No hard feelings, right? Didn't mean to stun you; when you drew your wand I reacted by instinct."

Percy hesitated briefly, before taking the offered hand. "Alright," he said reluctantly. Suddenly he frowned, and his grip on Harry's hand tightened. "But I _know_ it was you who hexed Malfoy."

"Did I?" Harry said lightly. "If I did, it must have been because he insulted Ron's - and therefore your - family. 'Blood-traitors so poor they can't distinguish Galleons from pig-droppings,' I think the expression was."

Percy looked outraged. "That little…!" He shook Harry's hand vigorously. "Nice to meet you, Harry."

III

Stepping back into the Great Hall noticed Malfoy's expectant expression. _You're in for a disappointment, you spoiled ponce,_ Harry thought smugly. As he walked over to his fellow Gryffindors, his eyes swept over the teacher's table. One of the professors, a nervous-looking fellow wearing a turban of all things, was speaking with a hook-nosed man sitting beside him. Judging how his eyes flickered all over the Great Hall, he didn't particularly enjoy the subject of the conversation. Suddenly he caught sight of Harry and froze in mid-sentence.

Pain lanced through Harry's scar as 'hook-nose' looked up sharply. The man's lips twisted into a snarl of disgust and loathing, as if Harry's mere presence was an intolerable affront to him. Harry rubbed his scar and hurried over to where Ron sat.

"Is everything okay?" Ron asked as Harry slid down beside him. "What did McGonagall want?"

"I just-" He frowned over his shoulder, but the two men were once again deep in a conversation. The one with the turban growing ever twitchier. "Oh, nothing. McGonagall wanted to know what happened to Malfoy, but I managed to wiggle out of it. Just say you never met the bloke if she asks."

Ron nodded and returned to his breakfast. Harry caught sight of a letter lying beside his plate.

"Letter from home already?"

Ron's ears turned a bit red. "Um, yeah." He quickly grabbed the letter and stuffed it into a pocket.

Harry crocked a brow. "Is there something wrong, Ron?"

"No, nothing," Ron said quickly.

Harry crocked his head. "Good thing the Hat didn't sort you into Slytherin," he smirked. "You're a terrible liar."

Ron gave a resigned sigh. "Got a letter from Mum," he admitted reluctantly.

"So?"

"She warned me to... well, to stay as far away from you as possible," Ron said, not meeting Harry's eyes. "She's threatening to take me out of Hogwarts if I have anything to do with you."

Harry felt a little as if his golem had just punched him in the gut. "Oh," he said softly. "I see."

None of the two boys seemed to know quite what to say after that. Harry just picked at his food, having lost all appetite.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry," he muttered so quietly only he heard it.

III


	5. The First Day

**Chapter 5: The First Day**

Ron and Harry walked to Professor Flitwick's Charms-class in silence, which suited Harry just fine. He really should have expected this, he thought and kicked himself for getting his hopes up. Of course parents would react when a known Death Eater sent a dark wizard-in-training to attend Hogwarts! He glanced at Ron, who was staring at the floor as they walked. Now that he thought about it, they had known each other for only a day. Ron had no reason to believe a word Harry said, and every reason to heed the warnings in his mother's letter.

The whispers from the other students died the instant they entered the classroom. Harry scowled at them, causing most to avoid his eyes and shift nervously. The only one who didn't seem affected by Harry's scowl was that irritating girl they had met on the Hogwarts Express. She watched him intently, like he was some kind of puzzle she was determinated to solve.

Harry marched past her and sat down at the front of the class, hoping that the old saying of 'out of sight, out of mind' would hold true. He was a bit surprised, though, when Ron resolutely sat down beside him. That made him feel a little better.

Professor Flitwick turned out to be the smallest adult Harry had ever seen. The ancient little wizard was actually shorter than Harry himself, and most of the teacher's face was hidden behind a shock of white hair.

"Good morning, everyone," he said cheerfully as he entered. "For those who don't know, I am Professor Flitwick, your teacher in Charms."

Flitwick took out his wand and gave it a swish, causing a dozen large books fly from a nearby shelf and land on the chair behind his desk. Then, with some effort, he managed to climb on top of the pile. The class snickered at the Professor's antics, and Harry couldn't help but smile a little, too.

The teacher didn't seem to take offence, for he grinned at the class. "I may be small of stature, but I still think I'll manage to drill the fundamentals of magic into your heads before the year is over," he said and fished a parchment out of his pocket. "Please make ready quills and parchments while I do the roll call. Brown, Lavender!"

There was a series of rustling noises as the students did as they were told. Harry started a little when Flitwick came to "Granger, Hermione!" and her response sounded almost directly in his ear.

He sent a glare over his shoulder at the girl, who was leaning across her desk to get a closer look at him.

"Patil, Parvati!"

"Here."

"Potter, Har-_eep_"

Flitwick jumped in surprise when he came to Harry's name, which caused him to lose his balance and tumble down from the pile of books he stood on. The book-pile swayed dangerously for a moment, before it, too, fell off the chair and landed on top of him.

"Oof!"

Harry stared at the desk which now hid the tiny Professor. Not the teachers, too! This was getting ridiculous.

However, Flitwick quickly got back on his feet. Although the desk was almost as tall as him, they could just see the top of his head moving behind it.

"Ahem. Right. No harm done," Flitwick assured them from behind his desk. The books suddenly leaped back up to the chair, and the Professor climbed atop on them again. He faced the class with a sheepish grin. "I was merely a bit surprised. You are the very image of your father, Mr Potter."

That remark brought a pleased smile to Harry's face, even after having heard it countless times from Sirius. The rest of the class chuckled, tension broken.

Flitwick spent the rest of the class outlining what they would learn this year, and Harry found somewhat to his surprise that he already knew most of the practical aspect. He didn't know some of the theory, though.

"…we won't start practicing simple levitation charms until Halloween, however," Flitwick finished right before the bell rang. "Homework is reading chapter one of the_ Standard Book of Spells_."

As everyone got up and began filing out, Harry looked over at Ron. "Well, what do you think?"

"That professor is a funny little bloke, but I don't think we'll have many problems with this class," Ron said.

"Honesty!"

Ron and Harry shared a groan as they turned around to find Hermione Granger standing there, hands on hips and eyes narrowed.

"What?" Ron demanded in exasperation.

"You really shouldn't talk about a professor like that, behind his back. It's disrespectful!"

"And you really shouldn't listen in to private conversations," Harry snapped. "Come on, Ron."

They left the classroom, making their way back up the corridor. "Sodding bushy-haired nightmare," Ron growled. "Who does she think she is?"

Harry only grunted in reply. The whispers had resumed as soon as the class was over, and it was starting to grate on his nerves.

"That's him, beside the red-haired boy."

"But he's so small!"

"Did you see the scar?"

"His eyes are so _cold!_"

Harry started walking faster. "We've got Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration, next. I've heard she's strict, so let's get a move on."

McGonagall turned out to _be_ strict. As soon as they had taken their seats she informed them that Transfiguration was the most complex magical art they'd learn on Hogwarts, and that any misbehaviour in her classes would be met with expulsion. After that she ordered them to copy the basic principles of transfiguration she wrote on the blackboard, before giving a practical demonstration by turning her desk into a pig and back again.

She then gave them each their match to turn into a needle. However, the class soon found that transfiguration was apparently a lot more difficult than it looked like.

Harry glanced around at students muttering incantations without much success. The matches stubbornly remained matches. Ron frowned heavily and prodded his match with his wand, but quickly stopped when it began to smoke. Harry looked down at his own match and came to a decision.

"Muto spiculs," Harry said, performing the correct wand-movement – except that he added a flick at the end, which dissipated the magical energy rather than focusing it into a spell.

"Muto spiculs," Harry repeated, deliberately repeating mistake. "Muto spiculs"

McGonagall came past, stopping as Harry's sixth or seventh attempt failed. Her lips thinned and she shot him a sharp, disapproving glance before moving on.

At the end of the class, Harry felt he had done the right thing. The only student who had managed to change their match at all was Granger, which came as no surprise to Harry. Ron scowled at her as he rose, grumbling something that sounded like: "Sodding know-it-all."

"Mr Potter, remain behind for a moment," McGonagall suddenly said.

Ron looked questioningly at Harry, who shrugged in return. "See you in the Great Hall," he said quietly.

McGonagall waited until the rest of the class had filed out and closed the door, before saying anything. "I'd like an explanation for your actions today, thank you."

Harry blinked and gave her a very intelligent-sounding: "Huh?"

The professor gave him a hard look. "Don't play the fool with me, Mr Potter. In my thirty-five years as a teacher I've seen students fail to do a spell due to one of three reasons; imprecise wand-movements, incorrect pronouncement of the incantation or inadequate concentration. You, on the other hand, _added _a totally unnecessary wand-movement. In other words; you deliberately sabotaged your own attempt to complete the lesson. Now I'd like an explanation of why."

Harry grimaced and fought an urge to slap his forehead. How could he have forgotten Sirius' warning about how sharp Professor McGonagall was?

"I have already received some tutoring by Sirius," Harry explained. "With my reputation I figured being good at magic would only make things worse."

McGonagall's face seemed to soften a bit. "I understand your reasoning, Mr Potter, but I don't agree with it. While I am sympathetic to your problems, you are here to learn – regardless of how much tutoring you have received. I will expect you to do your absolute best from now on – in _all_ of your classes. Is that understood?"

"Yes, professor," Harry sighed.

III

Lunch was just being served by the time Harry reached the Great Hall, and Ron had already loaded up his plate. He wasn't so engrossed that he didn't wave Harry over, however.

"So, what did McGonagall want?" Ron asked, as Harry sat down wearily.

"Oh… she just wanted me to try harder from now on," he said, rubbing his eyes. Ron looked questioningly, but thankfully didn't ask further.

Harry had known his first year on Hogwarts would be difficult, with Sirius still on the run from the Ministry, and himself rumoured to be the next Dark Lord. Still, he hadn't expected it to be quite this bad.

He looked around the Great Hall, noting the wide-eyed stares and hushed whispers. _It's only the first day,_ he reminded himself. _It should blow over, once I've been here a few weeks._

Harry was jolted out of his musings by a sudden flash of fire, just inches in front of his nose. A letter fell down on his plate out of empty air, accompanied by a scarlet feather.

"What on Earth was that?" Ron exclaimed, just as surprised as Harry.

Harry opened the letter and read, with Ron looking over his shoulder:

_Mr Potter,_

_My apologies for interrupting your lunch so sudden, but I am afraid I require your presence in my office as soon as possible. My office can be found in the corridor to your left on the second floor. The entrance is hidden behind the stone gargoyle, and the password is 'lemon drop'._

_Albus Dumbledore._

Ron looked impressed. "You've been invited to the headmaster's office! Wonder what he wants?"

Harry grabbed a slice of toast and rose. "No idea. But I suppose I'll have to find out."

"You know," Ron said with a funny grin, "being called in on the carpet twice by your head of house _and_ once by the headmaster on the first day of school has to be some sort of record. Even Fred and George never managed that."

"Shut up," Harry called over his shoulder good-naturedly, as he walked away.

III

The corridor Dumbledore had indicated did indeed have a particularly ugly gargoyle. After glancing on the letter again, Harry told it 'Lemon drop', feeling a bit stupid. The gargoyle leaped aside, and the wall behind it split to reveal a spiral stone staircase that moved like a Muggle escalator. Eating the last of his toast, he rode the staircase up to a polished oak door. He knocked twice, telling himself that nothing too bad could be waiting for him on the other side, judging by the tone of the letter.

The door swung open by magical means, and the first Harry saw was Dumbledore sitting behind a massive, claw-footed desk. In one of the chairs obviously intended for the headmaster's visitors, sat a portly little man in a pinstriped suit and with a lime green bowler hat in his lap.

"Welcome, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes. He conjured up a second chair with a wave of his hand. "Please, be seated."

Harry walked across the room and sat down, taking note of the paintings of what he assumed were former headmasters and headmistresses, as well as several delicate-looking silver instruments standing on a number of spidery tables. He also noticed a large bird with a beautiful red and gold plumage, sitting on a perch. Harry suddenly realized who must – somehow - have delivered Dumbledore's letter.

"Mr Potter; allow me to introduce Cornelius Fudge, our Minister of Magic," Dumbledore said, gesturing toward the man. "Cornelius, this is Harry Potter."

Fudge rose from his chair with a fatherly smile and offered a hand. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Mr Potter."

"And likewise, sir," Harry said, shaking Fudge's hand. He carefully kept his voice and face neutral, but inwardly his mind was spinning. What on Earth was the Minister of Magic doing here? Was he putting pressure on Dumbledore to have Harry removed from Hogwarts?

"I know you have classes, soon, but Minister Fudge had some questions for you," Dumbledore said, smiling disarmingly, "and I thought it best to get it out of the way."

"Yes, indeed," Fudge said, as they both sat down. "I was elated when I heard you had appeared here at Hogwarts – many of us feared you had been lost forever. How on Earth did you escape from a powerful wizard like Sirius Black?"

"Escape?" Harry said, cocking a brow. "I didn't escape, sir. Sirius sent me here."

Fudge blinked. "Sent you?" He looked from Harry to Dumbledore and back again, as if looking for directions. "But- why would he suddenly decide to let you go, after keeping you for ten years?"

"Because, as a responsible godfather, he wishes me to acquire a proper education," Harry said. "When the school-year ends, I of course intend to return to Sirius."

"_Return?_" Fudge blurted in disbelief, and spun toward Dumbledore. "Albus, talk some sense into the boy!"

However, Dumbledore just spread his hands. "But what would you have me to say, Cornelius? If Mr Potter wishes to return to his godfather, there's very little I as headmaster can do to stop him."

Fudge gaped at the old wizard for a moment, but then he seemed to draw himself up. "Now see here, Albus! We can't let the boy return to a deranged killer, just like that!"

"Sirius is not a deranged killer!" Harry snapped, clenching his fists in anger.

Fudge ignored him completely, which only served to infuriate Harry more.

_Calm. Must stay calm._

"There must be _something_ we can do," Fudge said pleadingly, wringing the bowler hat between his hands. "Do you have any idea how much bad press it would generate, if the boy just vanished now that he's finally been found? Perhaps we could somehow remove him from Hogwarts, or-"

"Mr Potter has done nothing that warrants expulsion from this school," Dumbledore cut in before Harry could say anything. "Furthermore, he hasn't broken any laws and he is a minor in any case. The only way to remove him from Hogwarts would be with permission from his legal guardian; Mr Black."

Fudge's eyes bulged dangerously. "You got to be joking!" he spluttered. "Are you telling me I need Sirius Black's permission to protect the boy from Sirius Black?"

"Yes, exactly," Dumbledore said brightly, and seemed pleased that Fudge had grasped the point so quickly.

"But- But- Black can't possibly be Potter's legal guardian! He's a criminal!"

"Is he, now?" Dumbledore smiled.

Fudge rose from his chair, throwing the bowler to the ground in frustration. "Don't play games, Albus. Of course he is a criminal! The trial in the Wizengamot showed clearly-" He suddenly stopped himself, and a look of dawning horror came across his face.

"Oh, Merlin," he breathed. "There _wasn't_ a trial… this was back when Crouch was Head of Magical Law Enforcement, wasn't it?"

"Quite," Dumbledore said, becoming graver as Fudge slowly sank back into his seat. "While Mr Crouch's clearly illegal decree still remains, I doubt the Wizengamot will follow it – as it should be. And as long as Mr Black isn't found guilty, he remains Mr Potter's legal guardian."

Fudge seemed to deflate for a moment, but then suddenly brightened. "Wait! Black is still a wanted man, right? We can't have a man trying to evade the law as legal guardian for a child, can we? We'll try his case before a tribunal, and ask to transfer the guardianship to someone else!"

Harry grew alarmed by that statement, and even more so when Dumbledore nodded his head.

"That's a possibility, but let's not be hasty. Mr Potter is after all safe and sound here at Hogwarts, which is widely regarded as one of the safest places in the wizarding world. Further, Mr Potter has been scheduled to attend Hogwarts this year ever since he was born. Consider the outcry if the famous Boy Who Lived was removed from school and denied an education."

Fudge looked uncomfortable. "Well, I suppose there's truth in that, but- Albus, I have received numerous floo-calls and letters from concerned parents this morning – surely you must have, too?"

"That I have." Dumbledore's eyes grew hard, and his voice – while quiet – was harder still. "But as Headmaster I am responsible for the wellbeing of _all_ the students here. I will not let Mr Potter's education suffer because of what someone _think_ may happen."

"All right, all right," Fudge quickly surrendered. "Unless some sort of serious incident occurs, I won't have him removed once we sort out the question of guardianship. _That_, at least, is merely a formality."

Harry unclenched his jaw and sternly reminded himself that Sirius loosing the guardianship had always been a possibility. They had talked it over, and concluded that there was nothing to be done; Harry _had_ to go to Hogwarts.

_It won't change anything,_ Harry thought. _I'll still return home, no matter what Fudge says. Besides, we can sort it all out, once I find a way to prove Sirius innocent._

Still, it took a massive effort not to snarl at the old geezer when he put the fatherly smile back on again.

"So, Harry," Fudge said pleasantly. "How have you been the last ten years? A lot of people have been very worried for you."

"I've been perfectly fine, sir," Harry said flatly. "I haven't been starved or beaten, and Sirius hasn't taught me the Dark Arts."

"Er, right." Fudge's smile faltered a bit at the reply. "So Black has never injured you in any way?"

"Never." Actually, Sirius had given him the occasional bruise when sparring or duelling, but Harry felt mentioning that would only muddy the waters.

"Okay… so how does Black punish you if you do anything wrong?"

Harry shrugged. "Scold me, ground me or take away my broom for a month." The latter was surprisingly effective; Harry usually started showing withdrawal symptoms after a week.

Fudge gave his head a tiny shake. He looked like a man who had been told that two contradictorily statements were both true.

"Has he taught you magic?" Fudge tried. "Curses, hexes and such?"

"Yes, he has shown me quite a few," Harry admitted.

"Aha!"

"But nothing that isn't on the Hogwarts circum," Harry added, taking great pleasure in watching Fudge's shoulders sink in disappointment.

"Albus, have you checked him for the Imperious Curse?" Fudge asked, frowning in irritation.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "I did it wandlessly the first time we met. Mr Potter is not under the influence of neither the Imperious Curse nor any other mind-altering charms or spells."

Fudge dragged a hand through his thinning hair. "But none of this makes any _sense!_ Why would Black threat the destroyer of his master like a son, unless-"

"Unless Sirius Black is innocent," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Fudge scoffed. "I worked in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes back when Black killed Pettigrew and all those Muggles; I was one of the first to arrive on the scene. It was like walking into a nightmare; dead bodies everywhere, screaming Muggles - and Black were standing there _laughing!_"

Harry bit his tongue to keep himself from making a rather sharp comment. The Ministry had spent ten years chasing Sirius, and weren't going to stop just because of the testimony of an eleven year old. Instead, he allowed himself to daydream about using the fool of a Minister in place of his golem for a few moments.

"…so believe me when I say that I know what I'm talking about, Albus!" Fudge blustered, winding down from his rant.

"As you say, Cornelius," Dumbledore said. "However, can we agree that removing Mr Potter from Hogwarts would be highly counter-productive?"

"I suppose so," Fudge agreed with a disgruntled look at Harry. "I had expected you to be a bit more cooperative, Mr Potter. Then again, I suppose being exposed to Sirius Black for ten years would warp you view of the truth."

Harry's right hand twitched in the direction of his wand before he stopped himself. Planting a blasting curse between the Minister's eyes would also be highly counter-productive. Fudge didn't notice, though. He had put the bowler back on his head and shaken hands with Dumbledore. The Headmaster, perhaps sensing that violence was imminent, showed Fudge out as quickly as politeness allowed.

As soon as the door closed, Harry took a deep breath and let it out explosively. "Pompous, arrogant, sodding old-" He belatedly remembered that he wasn't alone and interrupted the sentence with a cough. "Pardon the language, sir."

"Quite alright," Dumbledore said as he reseated himself. "Minister Fudge can be a tad difficult to deal with, once he has his mind set in a particular direction. But please remember that he isn't a bad man. He just isn't very good at accepting rebuttals to what he 'know' is the truth."

"But _you_ believe me," Harry said, half-pleadingly.

"I do," Dumbledore said with a faint smile. "On that note, do you have any means of contacting Sirius? I'd like to discuss a few matters with him, including the possible loss of your guardianship."

Harry bit his lip. "Not really. We thought it best not to have as little contact as possible, but he did say he would visit Remus Lupin before Christmas."

"Excellent. I believe Remus would be most interested in talking to Sirius," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "Now off you go. As eventful as this day has been, I believe you still have a class in Defence of the Dark Arts before it is over."

III

Unfortunately, Defence of the Dark Arts turned out to be a complete joke. Professor Quirrell occasionally stuttered so badly they had problems understanding what he was saying. After he finally managed to spit out the year's lesson plan, he began giving them a general overview of what, exactly, the Dark Arts were.

"The D-Dark Arts are a te-terrrible business, and I h-hope you ne-never have to d-deal with them. A-as for w-w-what they are, well, they are m-magic that have - have," Quirrell paused and seemed to steel himself for what he would say next, "magic that h-have no other p-p-purpose tha- than to inflict p-p-pain or to do-dominate another being."

Here he stopped for a full two minutes, looking frightened out of his senses over the mere fact that such magic existed.

"In any c-case, it is my job to t-teach you how to d-defend yourselves against such c-c-curses and hexes," he gulped and adjusted the ridiculous turban he wore. "Please open your b-books at page five."

Quirrell proceeded to give them a stuttering overview of the history of the Dark Arts. "Homework is to r-read pages six to eleven before tomorrow," he finished "R-remember I will be ch-checking."

The lesson ended when the bell sounded and Quirrell let out a girlish shriek of fear.

III

"That was pathetic!" Ron closed _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ with a look of disgust. "I thought Quirrell would at least teach us a shield charm or something. Would be right handy next time the Fred and George try to prank me."

Harry finished arranging his notes by subject. "Keep it down, Ron. Madam Pince is looking our way." They were sitting in the Hogwarts Library, and the school's librarian had a reputation for being strict. "I'll be back in a moment."

He rose and headed over to the section on wizarding law. Ten minutes later he staggered back to the table he and Ron shared, putting down five or six massive tomes with a sigh of relief.

Ron looked at the pile wide-eyed. "I thought we had already finished all the homework. Did I miss something?"

"No, this is an extra project of mine," Harry said, as he sank down in the chair. He chuckled at Ron's horrified expression. "It's for a good cause."

Ron got up and walked around the table to take a better look at the books. "_Wizarding Law - Volume 6,_" he read in bewilderment. "_Wizengamot Court Procedures and Regulations, Important Historical Court Trials, The Death Eater Investigations _- what on Earth are you doing?"

"Sirius," Harry said simply, reaching into his book-bag and taking out a folder with the title 'Operation Innocent Godfather.' He opened it, revealing notes and newspaper clippings, one of which proclaimed:

_**Death Eater Sirius Black kidnaps the Boy-Who-Lived**_

"I gave myself a little promise a while ago," Harry said quietly. "That I would prove Sirius innocent before I graduated, no matter what."

"You can do that?" Ron asked uncertainly. "I mean, there were dozens of witnesses who said Sirius Black blew up Pettigrew."

"And that's the problem," Harry sighed, fingering the clippings. "As far as I know, the only way to prove Sirius did nothing of the sort would be to produce a very much alive Pettigrew," he said, frowning. "And if he is hiding as a rat, it will be almost impossible to find him."

"What does he look like as a rat?" Ron asked.

"Just a common grey rat," Harry said, shrugging. "Probably missing a toe from his front paw, since he cut off his finger."

"M-missing a toe?" Ron stuttered, going pale.

Harry looked up. "Yes?"

Ron looked like he was going to be sick. "Oh, my God – Scabbers!"

III

In a forest, near the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, a common grey rat with a missing toe raced through the undergrowth. Had it been capable of speech, it would have alternated between lamenting its bad luck and sobbing in deepest self-pity.

Why, oh, why did this have to happen to poor Peter Pettigrew? Sirius would have told Harry about Peter's animagus-form, and Harry might mention it to Ron Weasley. If he did, there didn't take much brainpower to put two and two together and come up with a rat named Scabbers.

So now poor Peter had to leave the comfortable wizarding home he and lived in for ten years as a rat, and find somewhere else to go.

Poor, poor Peter Pettigrew!

III

**Author's Notes:** Look, new chapter! And it only took me half a year to complete it! (dodges rotten tomatoes) Keep an eye out – next chapter should be ready in only a couple years! (dodges more rotten tomatoes)


End file.
